


Lovesick Charity

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Betrayal, Community: harrydracobang, Cunnilingus, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, Dubious Consent, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018, Infidelity, M/M, Manipulation, Older Characters, Rimming, St Mungo's Hospital, Vaginal Fingering, Violent Sex, Wizengamot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:51:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 50,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: After falling for Draco, Harry is determined to end hateful laws that target former Death Eaters. Too bad Draco has already betrayed him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas: Lena, Spookywoods, and Starlillie!
> 
> The illustrations are by the wonderful [Nearly Conscious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nearlyconscious) (Chapter Two) and [Ranaraeuchle/Chibitoaster](https://ranaraeuchle.com/) (Chapter Three)!
> 
> Warning: Harry and Draco aren't very nice to each other in this, and there's plenty of angst, hurt feelings, and boundaries crossed. Also, Draco sleeps with someone very close to Harry. If infidelity ruins fics for you, this one probably isn't for you.
> 
> If you would like to know more about the infidelity/betrayal so you can go into the fic forewarned, please check the end notes.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

“We’ve someone in the holding cell.”

“Already?” Harry rubbed his face. Merlin, he needed a holiday.

Dean didn’t smile. “Yes, and you won’t believe who it is.”

“We’ve finally nabbed Mundungus?” He brightened.

“Nope.” Dean snorted. “Why don’t you go down there and take a look for yourself?”

Harry frowned and set down his coffee cup. He took the lift to the jail, only mildly interested. His shoulders ached. He blinked hard and muffled a yawn.

The Ministry’s jail was medieval: the walls rough stone, the cells heavy iron. Nothing about it implied _justice_ or _fair trial_. He imagined fingernails broken off in the cracked mortar.

“Good Morning, Harry,” said Tortoise Wilks, the ancient guard. He was always chipper, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion he liked his job a little _too much_. There was a strange glint in his eyes.

“Morning,” Harry said. “Just here to see our new guest.”

Wilks smiled. “He hasn’t been a problem, though he won’t stop pacing.”

“Very good.” Harry hated that he sounded like Robards. He listened closely. Yes, he could hear the man’s footsteps.

Wilks waved his wand and the bars behind his desk vanished. Harry nodded, then steeled himself for whatever surprise awaited him.

The torches on the wall brightened as he neared the holding cell. He considered taking out his wand but settled for leaving his holster unclasped.

At the end of the corridor, behind the chilled bars of a cell, stood Draco Malfoy.

“Oh,” Malfoy said, stepping back.

Harry stilled. How long had it been since he’d last seen Malfoy?

“What happened?” Harry flinched. He should’ve read the Auror report before coming down there.

Malfoy hugged himself with his long arms. His teeth chattered. “I’m cold.”

“Yes, that’s the idea.” Harry hesitated. He wanted to cast a Warming Charm on Malfoy. “You look tired. Were you up all night?”

“I woke up very early so I could have a chat with Mr Blackwood.” Malfoy’s eyes shone in anger.

“Blackwood? The shop owner?”

Malfoy nodded. “He was my employer . . . he owed me things.”

“Things?”

“Money. Ingredients.” Malfoy hit his thigh with a closed fist. “I’ve been such an _idiot_.”

“Don’t hit yourself. Some people might take it as aggressive.” Harry looked Malfoy up and down, trying to get a read on him. His clothes were in tatters, and fresh bruising snaked up his neck. He was thin and long, and strangely elegant. “What were you doing for Blackwood?”

“I was running his shop, obviously.”

“It’s not obvious to me.” Harry couldn’t imagine Malfoy running a shop. He couldn’t imagine Malfoy doing much of anything.

“Do you know when the Ministry will be done with me?”

Harry shook his head. The Ministry sometimes toyed with former Death Eaters. He really needed to get back up to his desk to read the Auror report. “I’ll return.”

“Sure,” Malfoy said.

Back at the DMLE, Harry went to the records office. He rapped his knuckles against the open door. “Has the Malfoy report been processed?”

Mrs Davies startled. “Oh, Harry, dear.”

“Sorry. Do you have the Malfoy report?”

“From this morning? Yes, I’m sure.” Davies, blinking through her bottle cap spectacles, riffled through the paperwork on her desk. She levitated the file over to him. “Poor old Mr Blackwood.”

“You read it?” Harry flipped through the first couple of pages.

“Oh, no, but I can’t imagine he fared well against a Death Eater. I’m surprised he isn’t dead.”

Frowning, Harry went back to his desk. There was a cup of steaming coffee waiting for him.

“Bless you,” Harry said.

Dean shrugged. “So, what did Malfoy look like?”

Harry blew on his coffee and took a sip. “He looked a mess . . . but, weirdly, he was the same.”

“Still as haughty as ever?”

“Yeah,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if _haughty_ was the right word. Malfoy looked proud, but also . . . feminine. No, that wasn’t it either. He looked . . . attractive.

He sat down at his desk. He had to push back a mountain of parchment to make room. A tower of files fell to the ground, but he ignored it. That was a problem for future Harry.

He took notes as he read the report. Malfoy’d been working off the books for Blackwood for a year. Malfoy would arrive early and leave late, and Blackwood asked him to disguise his face when interacting with customers, so it was probable no one besides Blackwood had seen him during the course of the year. Harry imagined the Auror on scene snorting and thinking, _How convenient_.

Recently, Blackwood had stopped paying Malfoy. First, it was because there was a problem at Gringotts, then Blackwood became “ill” and didn’t show up at the shop for weeks. That morning Malfoy’d gone to Blackwood’s residence to demand his wages.

Harry sat back in his chair, groaning a little. His lower back was already beginning to hurt. He didn’t understand why the Ministry provided them with such hard chairs. They were wizards, for Merlin’s sake. He cast a cushioning charm and returned to the report.

According to Blackwood, Malfoy had been blackmailing him for months. He would disguise himself and wait outside Blackwood’s home to rough him up if he didn’t pay. He’d promised to tell the Ministry about Blackwood illegally employing him. He’d also promised to tell how Blackwood got his hands on illegal potion ingredients, which Blackwood insisted never happened.

Whatever the truth, their confrontation had turned violent. Blackwood was cut up from a few curses, and Malfoy had been choked. 

“Is he guilty?” Dean asked.

“Dunno.” Harry leaned back in his chair again. He stretched his arms over his head and closed his eyes. He didn’t know what he thought about it. Both situations could’ve easily happened, but it didn’t look good for Malfoy. The Ministry would definitely side with Blackwood merely because he wasn’t a former Death Eater.

Harry stood. He needed something to do.

“Going to the canteen.” Harry gestured to Dean’s cup. “Want a refill?”

Dean frowned a little. “We have coffee in the office.”

“Is that a no?”

“I’m good.” Dean turned back to his paperwork.

Harry headed for the lift. He wondered what Malfoy was doing right now. Probably still pacing. He felt Malfoy's presence like a heat through the floor.

In the corridor, his steps slowed. He didn’t want to go to the canteen. He wanted . . . to do something. He wanted to see Malfoy again. He passed Robards’ office and knocked before really thinking about it.

“Come in!”

Harry went inside. Robards glared from his desk. “Your paperwork is late.” He whacked a pile of files at his elbow. “Davies won’t leave me alone until you get your work in.”

“She didn’t say anything to me.” Harry took a deep breath. “So, Malfoy.”

“Who?”

“Draco Malfoy. We’ve got him in a cell downstairs.”

“Right. What about him?”

“How long are we planning on holding him?”

Robards looked at Harry like he was an imbecile. “No idea, Potter. I’m Head Auror, not a mind reader.”

“I understand.” He did his best to keep his voice even. He pointed to the pile of files. “But as Head Auror, you receive the case file for every arrest. I just want an update.”

Robards’ woolly brows lowered over his eyes. “I will not be rushed by a subordinate . . . even one with your _experience_.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I don’t like how you demand special treatment,” Robards said, huffing. He yanked the top file from the pile and shoved it at Harry. “As it turns out, I’d just finished it before you stormed in here. He’s good to go after he stops by Mortona to schedule his court hearing. Make sure you escort him home and conduct a proper search of his flat.”

Harry flipped through the file. It had Robards' recommendations as well as Malfoy's criminal record. He only glanced at the first page, knowing the second page was all about the war trials.

“What do you think?”

“I think Malfoy needs to get a very good solicitor.” Robards laughed roughly.

Harry left before he threw Malfoy’s file in Robards’ face.

He went back to his desk. Dean glanced up, and frowned. “Where’s your coffee?”

“No idea,” Harry said distantly. He perched on his sodding chair and stared without seeing. Malfoy was lucky that he hadn’t pulled this shit twenty years ago . . . though maybe he had and just hadn’t gotten caught.

Harry sighed loudly and rubbed hard at his face. He was agitated. Something was _wrong_. He needed to act . . . but he didn’t know what to do.

“All right?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.” Harry sighed. “I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah . . . it’s just the Malfoy thing.”

Dean blinked. “Is he innocent?”

“No idea.” Harry paused. “I dunno . . . I don’t like how we treat them.”

“Them?”

Harry didn’t want to say it. “Death Eaters.”

“We don’t mistreat them.”

“No?” Harry stood and picked up Robards’ case file. He didn’t want to be in this small space with Dean.

“Are you going back to Malfoy?”

“Maybe.” 

Harry wandered from their office. He didn’t really know where he was going until he looked up and found Wilks in front of him.

“Back again?”

“Yes, Robards wants him released.”

Wilks and Harry walked to the jail cell. Malfoy looked startled to see them. This irritated Harry for some reason.

“Robards gave me permission to release you,” Harry said. “You just need to stop by our clerk to schedule your court date.”

Wilks tapped his wand on the cell and the bars dissolved. Malfoy stepped forward hesitantly; he flinched like they might attack him. “Is this your doing?” he asked Harry.

“No,” Harry said, “but I do have to escort you back home.”

Leaving the jail, they went to the clerk’s office to speak to Mortona. Malfoy agreed to come back in November. Mortona notified him that he’d be sent directly to Azkaban if he tried to flee the country.

“Yes, I understand,” Malfoy said. When he finished signing documents, he turned to Harry, looking almost bored. “Now what?”

“Now I escort you home.”

Taking the lift up to the Ministry lobby, they stopped in the designated Apparition Corridor. Harry grabbed Malfoy’s sleeve, and together they spun and disappeared. They appeared on a dirty street in Knockturn, startling a witch on the kerb. She recognized Harry and rushed away.

Malfoy snorted. “You don’t need to stay.”

“I need to see that you get back home before I release you.”

Malfoy huffed. He unlocked a side door. The building’s exterior was grimy with a few broken windows; the foyer and rickety staircase smelled of rotten fish. Harry followed silently. He _knew_ the Malfoys had lost the Manor, but he’d still imagined Draco Malfoy living there.

Shouts came from the first flat on the second level. Harry raised his wand and contemplated knocking.

“Don’t bother,” Malfoy said, unlocking the door across the corridor. “They are always rowing.” Harry hesitated before going inside. He didn’t know what he was going to find.

The lounge was quite small with a little sofa and mismatched arms chairs. The wallpaper flaked from the corners, the fireplace like a black hole in the wall. Some of the paintings looked like they’d come right from the Manor.

“Isn’t this dangerous?” Harry motioned to the paintings. “I’m sure this art is worth some Galleons.”

“I put a curse on them. I pity the poor thief who tries to get away with them.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Is that illegal?”

“Yes.” Harry walked toward the kitchen, then realized he was being rude. “Can I look around?”

“If you have to.”

“I have to.” Harry went into the kitchen, which was small and old but clean. “Do you have a house-elf?”

This made Malfoy laugh. “No.”

Harry frowned. “It’s a fair question. I know house-elves are very expensive now, but there are also elves who were too loyal to leave their wizarding families.”

“None of our elves were loyal.” Malfoy looked down at the floor.

“Oh.” There was a kettle on the counter. Strangely, Harry wanted Malfoy to ask him to stay for tea. He waited, but Malfoy didn’t say anything.

“I need to see the other rooms,” Harry said finally.

“Right.”

They went back into the lounge. Harry proceeded to the toilet at the end of the small corridor. He opened the cabinet to peek at what kind of potions Malfoy had in stock. Just the usual pain relievers.

“Are you going to riffle through my dirty pants, too?” Malfoy asked.

Harry looked at him. “Only if you want me to.”

Malfoy’s expression darkened. “Oh, I do.”

“Brilliant,” Harry muttered, and sneaked past Malfoy. There were two bedrooms. Both doors were closed. Harry reached for the first doorknob, but Malfoy put a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s Scorpius’ old room. Do you really need to see it?”

“I know it’s awkward, but yes, I do. It’s my job.” Harry did his best not to focus on Malfoy’s light touch.

“Fine.” Malfoy stepped back.

Behind the door was a small but tidy room. Books teetered high against all four walls. On the bedside table was a photograph of Scorpius and Malfoy. Harry wanted to pick it up to examine it.

“How is Scorpius by the way?” Harry asked.

Malfoy stiffened. “He’s fine. Very successful. Incredibly good looking. Damn near perfect.”

“Perfect?” Harry whistled. “That’s saying a lot. My kids are nowhere near perfect.”

Malfoy jerked. “Are we done in here?”

“In a second.” Harry Spelled open the small cupboard in the corner. Inside were more books and a few pairs of old shoes. A piece of paper fell to the ground. Harry picked it up. It was a childish drawing of a dragon fighting a wizard with no nose and red evil eyes. “Is this supposed to be . . . ?”

Malfoy glanced at the drawing. “Yes.”

“I’m surprised you talked to him about Tom Riddle at such an early age.”

There was so much tension in Malfoy’s body. His shoulders were stiff, his expression hard.“I had to. People would corner him in public and yell, ‘Do you know what your daddy did?’”

“Merlin.” Harry placed the drawing back on a pile of books. “I can’t imagine doing that to a child.”

“Yes, well, I wished they had only yelled at me.” Malfoy took a deep breath. “I deserved it. Scorpius certainly did not.”

Harry stared at him. Malfoy wouldn’t meet his eyes. Harry had the strange urge to touch him. This Malfoy shocked him. He had a hard time believing he was real. He wanted to squeeze Malfoy, to feel his heat. Then maybe it would be real.

“Let’s go to your room now,” Harry said, and his voice was rough.

Malfoy led them into the other room. It was bigger than Scorpius’ but not by much. The bed was big and the duvet looked comfortable. _That’s where Malfoy shags_ , he thought.

“There are two cupboards in here.” Malfoy pointed.

“Thanks.” Harry spelled open the cupboards. They were filled with clothes and old boxes. “What’s inside the boxes?”

“Photographs. Important parchment. Some of my parents’ old things.”

Harry cast a spell to detect Dark magic. One box glowed red. “What’s in there?”

“Bloody hell,” Malfoy muttered. He Summoned the box from the cupboard to land on his bed. He opened the lid and pulled out a pocket watch. “I’m sure this is what set off your spell. Don’t touch it.”

“Is it cursed?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Most likely.”

“Why do you have it?”

“Family heirloom.” Malfoy smiled grimly. “It was one of the few things I managed to get my hands on before your lot took everything.”

“My lot?”

“The Ministry.”

Harry frowned. “I did my best to help your family.”

“Thank you again.” Malfoy’s voice was empty.

Harry inhaled. “But . . . yes . . . some things need to change at the Ministry.”

Malfoy looked startled. He motioned to the watch. “Are you going to take it?”

“No. You keep it. Just don’t let anyone get their hands on it.”

“I haven’t let that happen so far.”

“Good.” Harry turned in place. He wanted to go through all the drawers in here. He wanted to learn Malfoy’s secrets. He shook his head. Not this again.

“Thank you for letting me into your home,” Harry said.

Malfoy snorted. “I didn’t have a choice. Will you release me now?”

“Yes.” Harry went back to the lounge. He wanted to sit down on the sofa, but didn’t. To release Malfoy he had to grasp his wrists. He hesitated. He was afraid to touch his bare skin.

“Go on then.”

“Right.” Harry grasped his wrists. They felt warm, a bit fragile. He tapped his wand to Malfoy’s skin. An icy blue link briefly appeared around his joints, then disappeared. Malfoy gasped softly.

Harry stepped back. “All good.”

“Thanks.” Malfoy didn’t meet his eyes again.

“Right.” He walked to the front door, then paused. “Don’t go looking for Mr Blackwood.”

Malfoy straightened his back. “I’m not stupid.”

Harry nodded. “And if you encounter any problems . . . come see me.”

“ _Any_ problems?” Malfoy cocked an eyebrow.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Thank you for the offer.”

Harry forced himself to leave. He paused on the kerb outside Malfoy’s building. He inhaled deeply. Why was he so rattled? He’d done countless searches of suspect homes. Why had this one unnerved him so much?

He glanced up at Malfoy’s little window. He wanted to catch Malfoy staring back at him, but the white curtain remained motionless. Malfoy had no interest in him. He sighed and Disapparated.

*

Grimmauld Place was lonelier that night. With the kids moved out, and Ginny now living with Dean, it was difficult for Harry to go home after work. The house made him feel like he had _no one_. It made him feel like his whole life had only been mistake after mistake.

He poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and sat down heavily on his sofa. Merlin. He was exhausted even though not much had happened. After his run-in with Malfoy, he’d spent the rest of the day catching up on paperwork at his desk.

He was depressed. He was competent at his job; he was an okay father. Yet he felt like everything he did amounted to nothing. In the mornings, he lay in bed and blinked groggily up at the ceiling. _How many more years of this do I have?_ he thought. Wizards lived too fucking long.

He supposed it was a reaction to his children leaving him. For twenty years, his main identities had been father and Auror. Much of his free time had been devoted to his children. When at work, he rarely thought of himself. It’d all been a coping mechanism. He saw that now. He’d surrounded himself with the family he’d never had; he’d spoiled his children in all the ways he’d dreamed in the cupboard. The war was _in the past_ ; now he was a father, a husband, a professional. His childhood couldn’t hurt him anymore.

He turned on the telly but his mind kept straying to Malfoy. Fuck. He fancied Malfoy. He was too old and lonely to not be honest with himself. He was desperate to shag men. Malfoy was his same age but he didn’t look it. He was fit. He was . . . Merlin. He looked like the years had never touched him. 

He hated that he was attracted to men. No, that was too harsh. It was just so damn _inconvenient_. He hadn’t fancied boys in Hogwarts, or at least he hadn’t realized his thoughts were attraction. Sometimes he’d thought about kissing them. This never made him question his sexuality. He had been so naive.

God, he missed his children. They were grown; they didn’t need him anymore. Jamie was playing professional Quidditch; Al was tracking dragons with his uncle. Lily was doing . . . something. Harry frowned. She’d been struggling for a while now. He’d thought Al was the one he needed to worry about, but Al had finally mellowed out. Harry had overlooked Lily; he’d assumed her silence meant she was happy. All her professors had loved her at Hogwarts.

He turned off the telly, too distracted to enjoy the sound. Grimmauld Place creaked when no one else was around. It felt like the walls were closing in on him. He stood. He had to get out. He wanted to find a fit bloke to shag. No, he was too old for that.

He went upstairs to his en-suite to take a quick shower. When he emerged, he stood in front of the mirror and stared. He had scars and more hair on his chest. Harry turned to the side. He was getting a pouch. The mirror giggled at him. 

Did Malfoy have scars? When he looked in the mirror, did he only see what the years had done to his body?

Sighing, Harry went to his armoire to find something to wear. He wasn’t going out to pull. He wasn’t. He just wanted to walk around and enjoy London at night. Maybe he’d stop at a Muggle pub for a drink.

He pulled on some jeans, a black shirt, and the jacket that made him feel daring and reckless like Sirius. Doing something with his hair was useless, so he ran his fingers through the wet locks and thought, _Fuck it_.

Outside, the London air was cool against his damp neck. He checked in on his neighbors, then sneaked into his usual deserted alleyway and Disapparated.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in Muggle London. He was back in Knockturn Alley. He cursed. This was where he wanted to be.

Knockturn Alley was different at night. More people roamed the twists and turns, and Harry spotted a few surly creatures. Up ahead, a hag with horns and a bulbous nose sold elixirs that glowed in the dark. It was illegal to sell magical edibles on the street, but Harry ignored her. He was too tired for trouble, and he realized long ago that he’d never end _all_ illegal activity.

He came to a halt in front of Malfoy’s building. There were many tenants in the building. Somebody was playing the wireless and frying up some sausage. A few shrieks came from the ground level. Harry spied through the curtains. A wizard wearing bright orange goggles wrestled a shrieking plant. Harry recognized the plant. It was illegal.

This was why Aurors never went _looking_ for trouble. He’d be here all night if he’d been on patrol.

He rubbed at his face. What was he doing? _Be honest, Potter_. He was here because he wanted to see Malfoy again. He wanted to sneak into the building and knock on Malfoy’s door. He wanted Malfoy to invite him in. He wanted Malfoy to kiss him and cup him through his trousers. Maybe Malfoy would smirk and whisper, _Bad boy._

Christ. Harry sucked in breath. He couldn’t think about this standing in the middle of Knockturn. He needed to take himself home. He’d have a nice wank and fall asleep, and when he woke up tomorrow, Malfoy would be a distant memory.

He heard a whimper. He paused, his heartbeat picking up. He pulled out his wand and followed the sound. Around the corner, at the end of a small alcove for rubbish bins, lay a man. Harry hurried forward. It couldn’t be—

Harry dropped to his knees. Malfoy was unconscious and badly beaten. His white blond hair was smeared with blood, his mouth split in two places.

“Malfoy? Can you hear me?”

Malfoy groaned and his eyelids fluttered. Harry cast a quick diagnostic spell on him. No internal damage or deadly curses. Harry sighed in relief. He Conjured up a handkerchief dripping with water. He cleaned the grit from Malfoy’s cheeks, then whispered, “Malfoy. Wake up.” He shook him just a little.

Groaning again, Malfoy opened his eyes. “W-what?”

“It’s Harry—Harry Potter. You are injured and lying outside your building. Do you understand me?”

“Help me up,” Malfoy said.

Harry gently helped him to his feet. Malfoy rested heavily against him.

“I’m taking you to hospital,” Harry said.

Malfoy jerked. “No, I’m fine.”

“But . . . you need someone to look you over. Make sure nothing’s wrong.”

“Can’t you ask someone you know? I will pay them.” Malfoy’s voice sounded distant.

Harry didn’t know what to do. “I know someone who is a healer, but I doubt you want to see them.”

“I don’t mind Granger. Not anymore.” Malfoy clutched at Harry’s shoulders, his head lolling.

“I’m taking you upstairs.” Harry pulled him closer.

“ _No._ Take me to an inn or something. I’m— ” Malfoy murmured the last bit of his sentence.

“Malfoy. Open your eyes.” Harry shook him a little. “Don’t fall asleep yet.” Malfoy didn’t respond.

“Christ,” Harry said, and pulled Malfoy flushed against him. He spun them as gently as he could, and they Disapparated with a pop. When they reappeared, they stood in the middle of Harry’s lounge. Harry helped Malfoy to the sofa.

Malfoy’s eyes were closed again. His face looked better after Harry’s cleaning, but he was quite pale. His chest moved gently in sleep, and he looked . . . good. _Stop it_ , Harry thought, and went to his fireplace.

He threw in some Floo powder and called, “Laurel Cottage!” Green flames whirled in front of his face. When his vision cleared, he stared into Hermione and Ron’s cozy lounge.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Their cat came running from the kitchen, meowing.

“Nick! Lovely to see you! Go get Hermione or Ron.”

“No need. I’m here.” Hermione crouched down in front of him. She blinked at his expression. “Is everything all right?”

“No.” He paused, unsure of how to proceed. “I’ve got Malfoy here. He’s unconscious.”

“Malfoy? _Draco Malfoy?_ ”

Harry grimaced. “Yes . . . it’s a bit of a long story. He’s been attacked and doesn’t want to go to hospital.”

“Take him there anyway!” Hermione’s eyes were wide. “The healers are not going to harm him.”

Harry shook his head. “No . . . I couldn’t do that.”

She was frowning deeply. “I suppose you want me to check him over?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “All right. Let me get some supplies, then I’ll be over.” She ended the Floo.

Harry went back to Malfoy, who was still unconscious. He Conjured another wet cloth to clean up his neck and hands. He pushed up Malfoy’s sleeves just a little to wipe at his forearms. The Mark stood out against his pale skin. Harry quickly pulled his sleeve back down.

The Floo flared to life and Hermione emerged in a cloud of green flames. She shook Floo powder from her hair and approached Malfoy on the sofa. She carried her healer bag.

“Thanks for coming,” Harry said.

“Of course.” She began casting intricate spells on Malfoy. One spell encased him in a shimmering gold bubble, then popped a few moments later. She pulled back his eyelids and shined a light into his pupils with her wand. Malfoy tried to jerk away in his sleep.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Yes.” She took up a chair to think. “If he can move away from my touch, then he’s going to be just fine.”

“What do you think happened to him?”

She shrugged. “It looks like he lost a fight.” She eyed Harry. “Do _you_ know what happened?”

He hesitated. “I have my theories.” He sat down next to her. “Malfoy was brought in this morning after he had a row with Mr Blackwood. You know the shopkeeper?”

Hermione looked confused. “Mr Blackwood is so docile.”

“Is he? I don’t really know.” Harry rubbed at his chin. “If I had to guess, I’d say Mr Blackwood or maybe someone close to Mr Blackwood came back to finish Malfoy off.”

“That’s what happened,” Malfoy murmured. His eyes fluttered open briefly.

Hermione moved closer. “How are you feeling? What is your vision like?”

“Shit.” Malfoy gulped thickly. “May I have some water?”

Harry Conjured a glass and cast _Aguamenti_. Hermione helped raise Malfoy so he could drink from the glass.

After drinking his fill, Malfoy groaned and laid back against the sofa cushion. “Merlin.”

“You need to go to hospital,” Hermione said.

“No.” Malfoy tried to open his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Hermione shook her head. “You are still stubborn, I see.”

“I’m not _stubborn_. I just know what’s best for me.”

“Sure.” Hermione stood and motioned for Harry to follow her into the foyer. She handed Harry a potion when they were alone. “This should heal him quickly. It’s also a pain reliever and sleeping aide. I’m pretty sure he will be all right, but it’s on him if he doesn’t want to go to St Mungo’s.”

Harry smiled gratefully. “Thank you for coming over. How’s everyone?”

“We’re all just cracking on.” She peered at him closely. “What’s really going on here? Do you know something about Malfoy?”

“No. I just—” He took a deep breath. “The way the Ministry treats former Death Eaters is wrong. You should’ve seen everyone at work today. They were damn near _gleeful_ about Malfoy being arrested. Did you see his neck? He’d been _choked_ and I had to damn near beg Robards to release him.”

Hermione was silent for a moment. “You already know how I feel about the Ministry. There’s a reason why I became a healer.” She sighed again and looked away. Frown lines hugged her mouth. “I don’t know what to say. Just . . . be careful. You must remember the politics.”

“How in the hell could I forget?”

She smiled sadly and patted his cheek. “You are so idealistic. It’s why I will always follow you.”

He shook his head. He was smiling. “Me, idealistic? How ironic coming from you.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’ve grown up.” She waved goodbye and went to the Floo. With a roar of flames, she was gone.

Harry was grinning when he knelt back down next to Malfoy. “She gave me this potion for you.”

“I hope it makes me sleep like the dead.”

“I think it will.” Harry hesitated, remembering what Hermione had said. He didn’t want to do anything rash. “Do you . . . want to stay the night?”

Malfoy blinked at him. He was silent for a moment. “You’d—” He cleared his throat. “You’d let me do that?”

Harry nodded. He couldn’t meet Malfoy’s eyes. It was ridiculous, but he felt himself blushing.

“There are a few rooms here with comfortable beds. It’s been . . . empty since the kids moved out.”

Malfoy stared at him. “Wow, Potter.” He laughed weakly.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just can’t believe you offered your home to me. _You._ ”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“We used to hate each other.”

Harry couldn’t read his expression. “That was thirty years ago. You’ve changed . . . you’re a father now.”

“Does that mean I’m trustworthy now? Because I reproduced?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just one night.” Malfoy stood shakily, and nearly lost his balance. Harry grabbed him.

“I’ll help you upstairs.”

Malfoy sighed. “Okay.” 

They climbed the stairs together, Malfoy breathing heavily in Harry’s ear. They turned into the closest guest room, which was a bit dusty and overlooked.

“Here,” Harry said, and guided him to the bed. Malfoy groaned and laid down. Harry missed the warmth of his body. “Do you need anything?”

“Just the potion.” 

Harry resisted the urge to help him drink it; instead he watched Malfoy’s long throat as he swallowed the vial’s contents.

“Don’t hesitate to ask me for help.”

“Potter,” Malfoy said, already somewhere else. Harry left him to his dreams.

He spent his night chugging beers and watching rubbish telly. It numbed him. He never stopped glancing at the darkened staircase, listening for creaking footfalls. He kipped on the sofa, and when he awoke in the middle of the night, he swore it was because someone had whispered in his ear. He took himself up to bed.

In the morning, Harry made coffee and tried not to wait for Malfoy to come downstairs. He ate toast with a bit of butter, crumbs falling down his front. He listened for footsteps again.

“It smells delicious in here.”

Harry turned, startled. Malfoy was in the doorway, his hair wet from a shower. The potion had done wonders: most of his injuries had healed, but there was still faint bruising on his neck and his mouth. 

Malfoy smiled faintly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“How did you—Christ.” Harry laughed and poured him some coffee. His heart still pounded quickly. “Do you take milk and sugar?”

“Yes, thank you.” Malfoy stirred in a little milk, a long stream of sugar. He sipped his coffee in silence. “I should go.”

“Okay,” Harry said, trying not to be awkward. He didn’t want Malfoy to leave. “You should go to the Ministry. File a report about what happened last night.”

Malfoy stared out the charmed window. “I need to find another place to live before nightfall.”

Harry frowned. “Do you fear another attack?”

“Maybe.” Malfoy didn’t look too bothered. “Anyway, thank you for giving me a bed to sleep in.”

“You should stay until you find another job.”

Malfoy blinked. “Why would you let me?”

“I want to help you.” Harry leaned against the counter, attempting to look as casual as possible. “I’ve known you since we were kids. Your safety matters to me.”

“I need to pack up my flat.”

“We can find a place together,” Harry said.

Malfoy grimaced. “I don’t have the . . . means to store my belongings while we look.”

“Like I said: I’m willing to help you.”

Malfoy turned away, his back hunched. “I don’t want your handouts.”

“It wouldn’t be a handout. I know you’re good for it.”

“No, you don’t.” He faced Harry again. “Thank you, but my son’s in town right now. He’ll help me.”

“I want to ensure your safety. Let me come with you.”

“No,” Malfoy said. “Not when my son is with me.”

“You don’t want me to see your son?”

Malfoy’s face twitched. “No.”

“Let me at least hire some elves to help.”

Malfoy stared at the floor. “Elves would be a great relief,” he muttered.

“Then it’s settled! I’ll Floo some elves after you leave.”

“Fine. Thank you very much.” Malfoy climbed the stairs to the lounge. A few moments later, Harry heard the roar of the Floo. Malfoy was gone.

Sighing, Harry finished his coffee and washed the few dishes from breakfast. He went upstairs to the Floo. Elves were in high demand, and you usually needed to reserve their services months in advance, but he was also Harry Potter. Most in the wizarding world bent over backwards to help him. The goblins even smiled at him when he popped in at Gringotts. He didn’t know if they had forgiven him for breaking into their bank, or if they were playing the long game to get their revenge.

In the Floo, he spoke to a bored-looking elf named Beatrice. She laughed. “Same day reservation? That’s impossible.”

He paused, hating himself a little. “I’m Harry Potter.”

“Sure, and I’m Merlin. I believe we’re done here.”

He leaned forward and pushed back his hair to reveal his scar. “See.”

“So what? That could easily be manipulated. I’m going to need a lot more proof.”

“Wait one moment.” He pulled his head out and Summoned his Order of Merlin from his bedroom. He heard a drawer in his armoire crash to the floor. A large gold medal attached to green ribbon floated down to his hand. He re-entered the Floo and shoved the medal forward so Beatrice could clearly see it. “I’m telling the truth.”

Beatrice read the medal; she touched it with a gnarled finger. Her eyes widened. “Beatrice is sorry, Mr Potter! Beatrice is a bad elf!”

“Stop,” he said. “I don’t need you to chastise yourself. I just want four—no five elves at the flat of Draco Malfoy in Knockturn Alley as soon as possible. Send me the bill, of course.”

“Very well, sir.” Beatrice bowed. “The elves will be there in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” he said, and ended the connection. He remained on the floor. He was a prat but . . . it was for a good cause. That had to be worth something, right? He shook his head and rose from the floor. He could never complain about his fame again.

He had to go to work. He was already a little late; he considered owling Robards that he was sick, but he didn’t want to be stuck in Grimmauld Place all day. He fetched his Auror robes.

Work was uneventful. Nobody asked about Malfoy, and Harry kept his mouth shut about the attack. If he was truly going to help Malfoy, then he couldn’t make any rash decisions that would alienate him. Harry would keep his secrets until they had an actual plan.

“Thank Merlin it’s Friday,” Dean said, stretching in his chair. He glanced at his watch. “And almost time to go home!”

“Yeah.” Harry barely glanced at him; he was disappointed that Dean seemed to have completely forgotten about Malfoy being arrested yesterday. Was Harry expecting too much from his colleagues?

He delayed his return home. He didn’t want to face the fact that Malfoy wasn’t going to stay with him; he thought about when the next time he would see Malfoy again and remembered that he’d be forced to face a judge at some point; this lifted his mood, then made him guilty. What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

He considered popping in at Ron and Hermione’s, but they might ask him questions about Malfoy, and he couldn’t face that. He couldn’t face the possibility that they might not ask about Malfoy. What if they turned out to be just as indifferent as Dean?

No, he needed to avoid them for now. He needed to steady himself. Clear his mind. He went to his favorite Muggle pub for a pint. He watched Muggle football in the corner. He wondered if Malfoy had managed to move all his belongings into his new flat. He wondered if Malfoy had left his scent on the pillow he’d slept on. Christ.

When he finally made it home, he was startled to see a glow of light coming from the second level. Heart thumping, he took the stairs two at a time. Malfoy was on the floor of the same guest room, an old trunk opened before him. He looked up at Harry, his expression mildly fearful.

“Were you able to pack up all your stuff?” Harry asked.

“Yes.” Malfoy stood and brushed his hands together. “I have something for you.” He picked up the cursed gold watch with a handkerchief and tried to hand it to Harry.

“Are you trying to kill me?” He smiled weakly.

“No—it’s for the elves and rent—if your offer from this morning still stands. It’s worth a lot of money.”

Harry crossed his arms. “I don’t want it.”

Malfoy made a frustrated noise. “Please take it! I don’t want to be your charity case.”

“You’re not my charity case. Like I said before, I know you’re good for it.”

Malfoy put the pocket watch back in the trunk. His jaw pulsed. “You are determined to humiliate me.”

“No, of course not. I know you will repay me.”

Malfoy stared at him. He was trying to read something in Harry’s face. “If you want something from me, just say it.”

Harry dropped his arms. His cheeks grew warm. “I don’t want anything from you. I want you to find another position. I want you to be able to support yourself.”

“Fine. I’m desperate enough to accept.” He waved around the room. “Is it okay if I stay in this room, or would you prefer me somewhere else?”

“You can stay anywhere you like.” 

Malfoy laughed without humor. “And what about this house? Do I need to protect myself in any way?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Harry frowned, thinking hard. “We had Curse Breakers clear out all the Dark magic before Jamie was born.”

“That makes sense.” Malfoy sat down heavily on the bed. “I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll let you go to bed.” Harry went to the door, not sure if he should say anything more. “Goodnight. I’m glad the elves were able to help you.”

“Yes,” Malfoy said, his face turned away.

Harry closed the door behind him. He moved down the hall to his own bedroom, lost in thought. God, he wanted to make Malfoy happy. It was strange to feel this strongly about him. This protective of him. They used to be school rivals; he used to think Malfoy was the biggest prat.

He readied for bed, then laid down. 

His attraction was sudden, inexplicable. No, that wasn’t entirely true. He knew why he wanted to shag Malfoy. Malfoy was incredibly fit; he had an arse that made Harry sweat. He’d fight Harry. He’d make him feel something. Ever since his children had moved out, Harry’d been so bored. Malfoy made him look forward to the day. 

The next morning, Harry decided to give Malfoy his space. The man must’ve been mortified to have nowhere else to go. Even Harry was disturbed by Malfoy’s lack of affluence. Malfoy had grown up in a house fit for royalty. Now he was homeless.

Harry went out for the day. He went to the cinema, then ate a hamburger wrapped in paper. Ketchup stained his fingers. He walked the park closest to Grimmauld Place. The day was cloudy, a bit chilled. A carpet of lichen covered the ground. He imagined lying down and being covered, too.

When he returned home, Malfoy had dismantled a newspaper on the sofa. He hid behind the sports section. “Your son played a good game yesterday.”

Harry didn’t know if he should sit down. “Luck was on his side.”

“Yes, he definitely got that from you.” Malfoy peered over the newspaper at him. “You’ve got ketchup on your chin.”

“Oh.” Harry licked his fingers and rubbed at his chin. He tried not to be embarrassed.

Malfoy snorted. “You’re such a barbarian.”

 _You’ve no idea_ , Harry wanted to reply. His media unit caught his attention. “You’ve been through my film collection.”

Malfoy frowned. “How in the hell did you notice?”

“They aren’t in their proper order.” Harry crouched in front of all his old dvds. “Do Muggle things fascinate you?”

“Sometimes.” Malfoy looked back at his newspaper.

“Did any catch your eye?” Harry grinned.

“Not really. It was all absurd.”

“Have you ever been to the cinema?”

“No.”

“Oh? We should go sometime. I went today. It was a superhero film. Not very good.”

“A superhero film?”

“Yeah . . . blokes in capes fighting crime. That sort of thing.”

“Capes? It sounds ridiculous.”

“Oh, it is. That’s what makes it fun.”

Malfoy huffed and grabbed for another section of the newspaper. “I don’t have time for _fun_.”

“Pity.” Harry went to the kitchen. There was soup on the cooker. Barley and veg. He ladled himself a small serving and climbed back up to the lounge. “You cooked.”

“Yes, I hope you don’t mind.”

Harry tried some of the soup. “Oh, I don’t mind. This is delicious.” The barley was hearty, the veg fresh and still a little crisp. “I’m shocked.”

“Because I can cook?” Malfoy paused. “Did I add enough salt?”

“I think so.” Harry laughed. “Merlin, you’re full of surprises.”

Malfoy found something important in the newspaper and neatly tore it out with his wand.

“Are you searching for another job?”

“Of course I am.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“I don’t care if it’s wise or not. I’ve got to eat. I can’t stay here forever.”

Harry shifted. His spoon scraped the bottom of his bowl. “You can stay as long as you need.”

“ _My hero_.” Malfoy fluttered his eyes at him; Harry looked away quickly, afraid he’d blush.

“I’m not joking. So many laws limit former . . . supporters of Riddle, and I’d hate for you to get nabbed for something else. I’m not saying don’t look for jobs, but just be careful. Your arrest changes things.”

“It’s my life, Potter. You don’t need to tell me to be careful. I’ve been living with limitations for decades.”

Harry stared down at his bowl. He knew he was bumbling through these conversations with Malfoy; he knew he came across as insensitive. “Obviously, I have more to learn.”

“Don’t you think I deserve it?” Malfoy’s voice was strange, which made Harry look at him. Malfoy seemed quizzical, a bit amused.

“Why would I think that? You were just a child.”

“You were a child too. Somehow you were able to choose the right side.”

“We had completely different upbringings. You’d be the same way if you spent the first ten years of your life in a cupboard.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t killed them for doing that to you.”

Harry caught his breath. “Dudley is better now. We talk sometimes. Petunia and Vernon are too pathetic to kill.”

“Doesn’t it shock you to hear me talk about killing people? Doesn’t it make you want to believe old Blackwood?”

“Should I believe Blackwood?” Harry watched him.

“No, that man is a corrupt prat.” Malfoy licked his lips. “But I’ve done things that would make you hate me if you knew.”

Harry was silent. The truth was that he didn’t want to know what Malfoy had done. The truth was that Malfoy could admit to murder and Harry would probably still want to fuck him. “I’m sure you had to do a lot to survive, especially in the beginning.”

“Yes.”

“What matters to me is whether you are willing to put it all behind you. I can’t help you if you are determined to hurt others.”

“Oh, it’s all behind me.” Malfoy laughed. “Trust me.”

Harry took his bowl back to the kitchen. He’d intended to ask Malfoy to watch a film with him, but he suddenly wanted to be alone. He wanted to take things slower. Maybe what he was doing for Malfoy was a mistake.

He said goodnight to Malfoy, then went up to bed. In his en-suite, he brushed his teeth and changed into his pyjamas. His bed was soft, comforting. He wasn’t tired. He tossed and turned. What had Malfoy done that would make Harry hate him? What if he’d killed after the war? What if he was involved in some criminal operation?

Sighing, Harry punched his pillow. After decades as an Auror, he knew that crime could be a slippery slope; he knew there was a fine line between crime fighter and criminal. Corruption was a constant reality at the Ministry.

Was he making excuses for Malfoy? Definitely. Did Malfoy and other former Death Eaters need an ally like Harry? Yeah. He just needed to find the courage to stand up for them.

*

Harry woke up late on Monday morning. He sent a hurried owl to Robards and Dean, then jumped in the shower. With his hair still dripping wet, he pulled on his Auror robes and laced up his boots with his wand. He was starving. He raced down to the kitchen and nearly knocked into Malfoy on his way to the fridge.

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said. “I’m still trying to wake up.”

“I’ve made coffee. Do you want toast?”

“Ta,” Harry said, and poured himself a cup. He took a sip. It was very good. “You should open your own coffee shop.”

“What?” Malfoy laughed at him.

Harry went for the bread bin, but Malfoy was already there. They knocked hands; Harry smelled the lingering scent of soap and aftershave.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy asked, amused. “I said I was making you toast.”

“Okay.” Harry didn’t move away. Malfoy’s arm brushed against him as he slathered the bread with butter. Malfoy slid him the plate, then stepped back.

“Do you want an egg?”

“No thanks,” Harry said around his bite of toast. “I must dash.”

“I’ll have time on my hands today. Do you want me to do any chores around the house?”

“Do whatever you would like,” Harry said, checking his watch. “I don’t expect anything.”

“That’s a risky thing to say.”

Harry forced himself to slow down enough to think. “Don’t touch the children’s rooms. Be careful if you go poking in the attic.”

“What about your room? What can I do in there?” Malfoy casually sipped his coffee.

Harry stared at him. “You can do whatever you like.” He turned away, not wanting Malfoy to know how little it took to get him excited.

“Got it,” Malfoy said, and Harry couldn’t read his tone. Maybe he was being sarcastic.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Harry said, swallowing the last of his toast. “I wish I could stay, but—”

“Don’t mind me,” Malfoy said. “I hope you have a good day at work.”

Harry nodded and went upstairs to the Floo. He never thought Malfoy could be so . . . _domestic_.

When he arrived at his office, he dropped down in his chair and pulled the closest file to him. He was still behind in his paperwork, and Robards would have his head if he didn’t finish it today.

He tried focusing on the file in front of him, but his mind wandered. He felt like he’d squandered the weekend. Malfoy had spent most of it in the guest room, and Harry had been too self conscious to interrupt him.

“An owl came for you.” Dean floated the folded parchment to Harry.

“Did you get my owl about being late?”

“Yeah; as you can see, you missed a lot.”

Harry laughed and opened the note. He brightened. It was from Jamie. _Dad - I’ve got a meeting at the Ministry today. Lunch? –JSP_ Harry sent off his reply, smiling.

“Good news?”

“Yeah—it’s from Jamie. He wants to have lunch with me.”

Dean whistled. “Surprising. He hasn’t been around ours in months.”

Harry brightened even more. He knew it wasn’t nice or mature, but he loved when it seemed as if his kids liked him more. Jamie hadn’t been to Gin’s in _months_ , but he was asking Harry to lunch.

He took out his favorite Muggle pen; he had too much writing to do it with a quill. He put his head down and focused his energy into finishing all his administrative tasks; he had other plans for the hours after lunch.

Jamie showed up at his office around noon. “Hi, Dad,” he said, smiling.

“Hey,” Harry said, trying to play it cool. He pulled Jamie into a big hug. “How’ve you been holding up?”

“Fine.” Jamie waved to Dean. “Good to see you.”

“Floo your mum,” Dean said.

“Yes, sir,” Jamie said, smirking.

“Where do you want to go?” Harry asked.

Jamie shrugged. “Somewhere Muggle.”

“Of course.” Harry shouldered off his robes and grabbed his coat. They headed for ground level. They went to their usual place, which was a hole in the wall caff. They took up a table in the corner; Jamie smiled a little too brightly at the young waitress.

“Any particular reason you asked me to lunch?” Harry glanced over the menu.

“Nope, I just wanted to see you.”

“Feeling guilty about forgetting your old dad?”

Jamie smiled tightly. “Something like that.” They gave their orders to the waitress, then settled into a comfortable silence for a minute or two.

“By the way, congratulations on the win,” Harry said.

Jamie shook his head. “Thanks, but let’s not talk about Quidditch.”

“All right.” Harry had expected this; even at Hogwarts, Jamie didn’t like him commenting on his playing. He constantly had to battle the comparison to his parents; he was constantly asked about his father. “Have you heard from your sister?”

“Maybe.”

“What does that mean?”

Jamie sighed. “It means that she wants to be left alone right now.”

Harry’s stomach lurched. “Do you know why? Is she in trouble?”

“Dunno.” Jamie shrugged. “She didn’t really say, but she seemed . . . sad.”

“Sadder than usual?”

“Yeah.” Jamie looked away. “I shouldn’t have said that. She told me not to talk to you or Mum about her.”

“Christ.” Harry felt guilty. Why was he fixated on helping Malfoy when his own daughter was struggling? “Do you think I should owl her?”

“No, just let her be.” Jamie fiddled with his napkin. “She wasn’t starving or anything like that. She just wanted space.”

“ _Starving?_ We give her money. Why would she be starving?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Harry rubbed his forehead. He missed his little girl. “What about Al? Have you heard from him?”

“He’s too busy chasing all that Eastern European fanny to talk to me.”

“Oh.” Harry tried not to grimace; he knew his children had sex lives, but it was still something he didn’t want to talk or think about.

“I’m dating somebody,” Jamie said, not looking at Harry.

“That’s great! How’s it going?”

“Fine, I guess. Aunt Hermione knows her. She works at St Mungo’s.”

Harry beamed with pride. Jamie was dating someone of substance; he could have an endless line of models fawning over him, and he chose someone who works with Hermione. “I hope you like her.”

“I might like her too much.” Jamie laughed a little.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I’m just being weird.” He finally looked at Harry. “What about you? Having better luck with men than women?”

Harry fumbled with his napkin. It still shocked him to hear his children ask him about men so casually. It’d been his dark secret for so long. “Oh, uh . . . that’s a good question.”

“What does that mean?” Jamie mimicked.

“Prat.” Harry grinned. 

The waitress dropped off their food; Jamie had ordered the corned beef, Harry his usual chicken sandwich.

“When should I expect to meet Dad Number Two?”

Harry choked on his food. “What the hell?”

Jamie snickered. “So nothing serious yet. You toot it and boot it.”

“I _what_?”

Jamie laughed loudly. “Something I got from an American friend.”

“Finish your lunch.” Harry pretended to glare.

They fell into a comfortable silence again.

“This is random, but it’s something that’s been on my mind,” Harry said.

“Go for it.”

“Do you think we’ve treated former Death Eaters right?”

Jamie frowned. “I’ve never thought about it before. I don’t know if we need to treat them right.”

“And when I say ‘we,’ I mean the Ministry, society.”

“Oh.” Jamie finished his corned beef. “Why has this been on your mind?”

“I’ve been doubtful for a while.”

“Doubtful?”

“As an Auror, I’ve seen how . . . assumptions . . . grudges ruin lives.”

Jamie was thinking hard; he always looked the most like Gin when he did this. “You know, the children of Mulciber and Avery had a hard go of it at Hogwarts. They didn’t even know their fathers; I think they were raised in orphanages or by distant relatives. They were still like vipers to us. I know I did my best to avoid them.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I was an insensitive git. I was a child. I avoided them because everyone else did.”

“That’s quite brave of you to admit,” Harry said.

“I guess.”

“What do you think I should do?”

The waitress came by to take their empty plates. Jamie wiped his mouth and played with some sugar packets. “You’re Harry Potter, so if anyone can take down the establishment, it’s you, but I dunno. Be careful. There are still loads of angry prats out there.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I think you’re right. Anything you want to tell me before we get out of here?” He said this almost as a joke, but Jamie hesitated like he really did have something to add.

“I have a favor to ask.” Jamie raised his hands. “It’s small, don’t worry. You know how I told you I’m dating someone who works at St Mungo’s? Well, she’s planning a benefit for the hospital, and she was wondering if you could attend. I wanted to ask you about it before giving her an answer.”

“Oh.” Harry always steeled himself when his children asked for favors. “What’s her name? Does the benefit seem harmless?”

“Magnolia. The benefit is for research on this type of disease that eats away at magical abilities. She talks about it all the time, but I can’t remember the name.”

“How long have you been dating her?”

“Almost a year now,” Jamie said, shrugging.

“You’ve been with her for almost a year but I’m just now hearing about it! Why didn’t you bring her to Christmas?”

Jamie gave him a look. “You know why. I just didn’t want to.”

“Fine, fine,” Harry said, grumpy. “It’s your life. And yes, I’ll attend this benefit since it seems like the only opportunity I’ll get to meet this woman.”

“Great! Everything is still in the planning stages. They don’t have a set date or anything.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Tell Magnolia that I’m attending strictly as a guest. No autograph signing. No sodding speeches.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Dad.”

Harry raised his eyebrow.

*

After lunch, Harry went back to the Ministry alone. He was happy that he’d seen Jamie, but it always made him fret when his children kept things from him. They weren’t as close-knit as he wanted. Was there anything he could do to stop the growing distance?

He went down to the Ministry’s archives to look through the public records. The large room was cold and dusty, with countless shelves filled with countless books and loose parchment. Overwhelmed, Harry began with a large book that listed all the laws passed since the end of the War. He thought this would be straightforward, but he quickly realized that the Wizengamot passed many laws he didn’t know about. So many laws. Gulping, he tapped his wand against the book and searched for the words “Death Eater.” Only a handful of laws popped up, which was a relief.

But no: Right below a law that mentioned Death Eaters was one that seemed to address their ability to find employment but didn’t mention them by name:

_The following persons may not apply for an employment licence in respect of any licensable activity—_

_(a) a person listed as a disqualified person in paragraph 4 of law 320555 or any of paragraphs 6 to 17 of Schedules 1, 3, or 8 where the time limit for any appeal against that disqualification has expired or where, if an appeal was made, that appeal was refused;_  
_(b) a person listed in any of paragraphs 1 to 3 and 5 of Schedule 1, 3, or 8 as having held a licence which was revoked where the time limit for any appeal against that revocation has expired or where, if an appeal was made, that appeal was refused._  
_(c) any licence granted or renewed, or held by, a person mentioned in paragraph (1)(a) of laws 320556-75, 320580-85, 32115-32131 is automatically revoked._

His eyes glazed over. _What?_

Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. He began at law 320555 and forced himself to read every paragraph slowly, repeatedly, until he decoded each meaning. He found laws limiting employment, spell work, even travel. He knew about most of these limitations, but it was stunning to see them all laid out in print. It was stunning that most former Death Eaters would need a solicitor to even begin understanding how they could live within the law. 

He stood abruptly. He was going home.

The wonderful smell of stew greeted him at Grimmauld Place. He found Malfoy in the kitchen, directing a spoon to stir a large pot on the cooker and a knife to slice thick pieces of bread on the counter.

Candles burned softly on the scrubbed table and old walls. Darkness pressed against the charmed window, but Malfoy brightened everything around him. He had his sleeves rolled his, his back perfectly straight. A bit of his soft hair fell into his intelligent eyes.

“Please don’t think you have to cook for me everyday,” Harry said.

“It’s not a bother.” Smiling, Malfoy floated a glass of wine to him. How could a cruel mouth look so kissable? “Your fridge is quite impressive. It contains whatever I want.”

Harry sipped his wine, and nodded. “Molly had insisted I get it. She thought the convenience would help me eat healthy after Gin and the children left.”

“Did it?”

“Sometimes.” He laughed. “I want ice cream too much for it to be truly effective.” 

Malfoy laughed too, and it warmed Harry.

They ate at the ancient table. Harry couldn’t help but stare; it was strange to see Malfoy where the Order had conducted their secret meetings. The war would’ve been very different if Malfoy had taken up Dumbledore’s offer to switch sides.

“What?” Malfoy said.

Harry finished chewing a bite. He sipped his wine. “I went through the Ministry’s records today. I tracked all the laws targeting former Death Eaters. It was remarkable. And infuriating.”

Malfoy nodded.

“The language is so . . . confusing. It reads like it was made confusing on purpose. There’s loads of times when the law doesn’t even mention former Death Eaters by name.”

“What else did you learn?”

“So many things! You can’t hold certain jobs or use certain spells. You can’t even travel to some countries!”

“I’m terrified they will pass a law that includes our _children_ in all these restrictions. Scorpius lives in Spain now; I can’t visit him or live there with him, but at least he has that freedom.”

Harry gaped. “I didn’t even see where it barred you lot from going to Spain!”

“We can’t go to the continent period. They were afraid we’d go over there to regroup and recruit.”

“So you’re essentially separated from your son because of the law?” Harry took a bite of his stew, incensed.

“Yes.” Malfoy seemed amused. He looked down at his own bowl. “This isn’t anything new, Potter. These laws are decades old.”

For a moment, Harry thought he might sick up. He’d turned his back on all this; none of it had directly affected him and therefore he’d been able to raise his children and focus on his career without being bothered. Death Eaters hadn’t interested him like werewolf rights reform. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Don’t. I can’t stand your pity.” Malfoy rose from the table and took his dirty dishes to the sink. He washed them with his wand, his back stiff. “I understand why they did it. Why they thought it was necessary after the War. I’m just so damn tired of struggling.”

“You were only a child.”

“I was old enough to know better.” Malfoy wiped his hands angrily. “I’m middle aged and I’m still making shit decisions.”

“Blackwood?”

“No, that wasn’t a shit decision. That was payback.” Malfoy smirked.

“The Ministry won’t see it that way.”

“I don’t care what the Ministry thinks. They could lock me up and throw away the key. And you know what? Maybe I’d deserve it.”

“Malfoy—” Harry went to stand.

“Don’t move. Are you finished with your dinner?”

“Yes.” He tried to read Malfoy.

Malfoy directed his dishes to the sink, then stood behind Harry. “Would you like a shoulder rub?”

His stomach twisted. “You don’t have to do it.”

“Do you want me to touch you?” Malfoy moved closer; Harry felt the heat of him.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Malfoy rested his hands on his shoulders. He circled his thumbs and felt Harry’s muscles with his fingertips. “You’re very tense. Your job must be very stressful.”

“Sometimes.” His voice was a croak.

“Will you let me make you feel good?”

Harry gulped; then gulped again. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Only a little.” Malfoy kneaded his poor muscles. Harry’s head fell back, and he moaned in his throat. “Does that feel good?”

“God.”

Malfoy spent a few minutes squeezing, caressing. He worked Harry over like he was dough, like he was something that needed to be soft enough to mold. “You like shagging men.”

Harry tried to turn to look at him, but Malfoy pressed his thumbs into his shoulder blades, causing him to melt.

“I . . . God, _yes_.”

“How the hell did you keep it from the papers?”

“Gin.”

“Your ex-wife? She didn’t want to humiliate you?”

“I never cheated on her. It was only after . . .”

Malfoy snorted. “Of course.” He dropped his hands and moved away.

Harry wanted to reach for him; he wanted to proposition Malfoy.

“You’ve had a long day. You should go upstairs and watch your cinema thing. I’ll finish up the cleaning.”

Hesitating, he tried to read Malfoy’s expression, but Malfoy turned to the sink. He stood shakily and left the kitchen. He’d give Malfoy his space.

*

In the following week, Malfoy continued to cook for Harry. He also tidied the house and worked on the garden. Harry didn’t know what to think. Malfoy wasn’t his servant and he didn’t owe him anything. All of it made Harry feel incompetent. He was a forty-something child. He couldn’t be left alone. He couldn’t take care of himself. Gin had cooked all the meals; his children had constantly entertained him. Malfoy lit him up. He made Harry look forward to coming home.

Malfoy stayed on his mind. Made a home among the hiding memories. In the shower, Harry pressed his mouth to the misty tile imagining it was another mouth. Malfoy was probably a good kisser. He probably knew how to kiss men. Not that it was much different than kissing women, but maybe it was.

Harry had fucked men; he’d sucked them deep into his throat. He hadn’t snogged them. A few brief kisses; glancing tastes. He wanted to hold Malfoy to the sofa and snog him for hours. Like teenagers. Rutting. He wanted to make Malfoy come in his trousers.

Going to work became harder and harder. When the weekend arrived, Harry looked forward to spending a few days with him; but Malfoy packed himself a small bag and went to visit Scorpius in another part of London. “He’s finishing up his business here,” Malfoy said. “I need to catch him before he leaves the country.” Harry tried not to be disappointed. Once again alone in the house, he masturbated loudly and came chanting _Draco, Draco, Draco_ in his head. Should he beg? Offer money? _Please don’t be offended; I’m just desperate to touch you._ What had the shoulder rub meant?

By Monday morning, Harry was depressed, ill-tempered. He was convinced that Malfoy would never come back. Malfoy had played him. He’d made Harry believe he was interested. It was his right to leave without a word.

At work, Dean laughed off Harry’s snarls; he bought Harry’s favorite for lunch and clapped him on the back. “Ask Robards for a field assignment. Get yourself out of this office.”

“No,” Harry said, chewing moodily. What if he encountered someone like Nott? No, he couldn’t bear it. He’d seen other Aurors mistreat former Death Eaters, and he’d done _nothing_. The guilt was overwhelming.

“All right,” Dean said. 

“Do you actually like this job?”

Dean set down his lunch. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—the Ministry! Do you like what they do?”

“They?” Dean frowned. “We’re the Ministry. You’re the Ministry.”

“Me? I’m just an Auror.”

“You’re Harry Potter. You’ve always been the face of this place.”

“I don’t want to be the face. I don’t condone what goes on here.”

“What do you mean? Good things happen here. We fight crime. We manage the wizarding world.”

“What about the corruption, the discrimination?”

“We’re not perfect, but I don’t think it’s widespread. Aurors aren’t just out there arresting blokes for the sake of it.”

“What about former Death Eaters? Haven’t you seen colleagues mistreat them?”

“You mean blokes like Malfoy?” Dean laughed and shook his head. “They aren’t mistreated. They’re lucky that they aren’t in Azkaban. If I remember correctly, Malfoy never served time.”

They fell into an awkward silence. Harry opened and closed his mouth. He was desperate for Dean to understand, but as the silence persisted, Harry felt like the ground was swallowing him whole. He couldn’t trust Dean. He couldn’t trust anyone in this bloody place. He needed to go on holiday.

He went to Robards. “I need time off.”

Robards sighed and stood from his desk. He floated Harry a glass of whiskey. “I’m glad you’ve come to this decision on your own.”

“What?”

“There’s been talk. You’re spending too much time with those books in the archive. You’ve been mean to poor Mrs Davies. You need to take some time to clear your head. Get your priorities straight.”

“Right,” Harry said, his anger flaring. He put down the drink and gathered himself to his full height. “Have Mrs Davies send me the paperwork at home.” He went to the door.

“Harry,” Robards said. “We want you to come back. You’re essential to the Ministry.”

“Quite essential,” Harry said. “That’s why my arse has been behind a desk for years.” He left.

When he emerged from the Floo at Grimmauld Place, he was blind with anger. He couldn’t believe Dean, and he wanted to chuck Robards from a window. He felt like the loneliest person in the world.

There was movement above his head. Malfoy. He charged up the stairs, not really knowing what he was doing. Malfoy’s bedroom door was open; he was shifting through his wardrobe. He turned to smile at Harry. “Is there something wrong?”

God, Harry’d missed him. He looked good, so fucking good. Harry would fight every hateful prat for him. He’d do anything for him.

Harry came closer. He couldn’t speak. Malfoy backed away, slightly alarmed. “There is something wrong,” Malfoy said, his eyes wide. Harry crowded him against the wall. He kissed Malfoy. 

Malfoy froze and blew out air through his nose. Harry attempted to deepen the kiss.

Malfoy pulled away. He was laughing. “I could be straight.”

“You’re not straight.” He tried to kiss Malfoy again, but he turned his face.

“I fancy women.”

Harry went cold. “Have I been misreading you this whole time?”

“No.” Malfoy touched his chest, his chin.

“I want you,” Harry said, almost choking. “I want you so fucking much.”

“I know.” Malfoy smiled faintly. “You practically vibrate with it.”

“You must think I’m pathetic.”

Malfoy pressed his mouth to his cheek, then moved away slightly. “There are things you don’t know.”

“I don’t care.”

“You would care if you knew.”

Harry spoke without thinking: “You’ve murdered.”

Malfoy flinched. “No. I mean, yes. Before. When I was a child.”

“And after?”

“Never. I’d rather kill myself.” Malfoy ground his palm into Harry’s erection. “I don’t want you to do anything you’d regret.”

“Christ.” Harry thrust into his hand, overwhelmed. “I can’t think when you’re touching me.”

Malfoy stepped back and crossed his arms. “Your timing is terrible. I only came back to change into my smart robes. Scorpius nabbed me an interview.”

It took Harry a moment to absorb this information. “Can you trust the employer?

Shrugging, Malfoy said, “I think so, but I’m desperate enough not to ask any questions. I just need them to give me a chance.”

“What would you be doing?”

“What I’ve always done: Brewing.”

Harry didn’t really know what to say. His face was very hot; he throbbed with arousal. “Good luck.”

Malfoy snorted and guided Harry from the room. “I have to get dressed.” He shut the door in Harry’s face.

Groaning, Harry went to his own room. He flopped down on his bed and flung an arm over his eyes. He was going to wank the moment Malfoy left for his interview.

*

Harry woke up to a sickening feeling in his stomach. The house was quiet, motionless. He assumed Malfoy hadn’t returned. He made himself breakfast but couldn’t really eat it. He had to do something. He had to _act_.

Harry didn’t know who could help him. He didn’t trust anyone at the Ministry to understand. He went to Southwold to visit Kingsley in his retirement. Maybe Kingsley knew how to shoulder grudges. Maybe he was brave enough to forgive.

Kingsley’s little cottage faced the sea, windswept, overrun by tourists. Harry walked by the sightseeing mums and wondered if there was a privacy charm on Kingsley’s house. The water beat against the pier and the sandy shore. Harry kept his head down.

He knocked and waited a moment. Kingsley’s eyes widened when he answered the door.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Kingsley stepped aside and waved him in. They sat down in a tidy lounge with a small fire and two Otterhounds.

“No, I’m on holiday.”

“Can I get you tea? Fizzy drink?”

“No, thank you.” Harry sat back. He tried to be casual. “This is a beautiful place. Right by the water, too.”

“I’m surrounded by Muggles. They never leave. They got their fake lights and their metal hands. No need to ever go home.”

Harry laughed. “It’s how they communicate with one another now.”

“They should go home and stop yelling in my ear. I can’t even enjoy a cup of tea on the beach without being bothered.”

“Cast a charm. Mute them.”

Kingsley grinned. “I do.” There was a heavy pause. “I know you didn’t pop in just to say hello. I’m sure there is something you want to tell me.”

Harry hesitated. He had to control himself. “You’re right. I’ve come to talk about the Ministry. I . . . there’s a lot that has been disappointing me.”

“Is Robards not giving you assignments? Are you stuck behind the desk?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s not what’s really bothering me. I’ve been poking around in the records.”

“Bad choice.”

“Right. Very bad choice.” He took a deep breath. “I think we’re discriminating against former Death Eaters.”

“Of course we are.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. “So you agree with it?”

“No, I don’t. I just understand why the Wizengamot did it; why they continue to do it.”

“I don’t understand.”

Kingsley sighed. “There are still a lot of people who haven’t forgotten. I don’t need to tell you this.”

“Yes.” Harry rubbed his face. “I just . . . if I can forgive, why can’t they?”

“You’ve always been remarkable. Most don’t have your heart, your tenacity.”

“Stop. You’ll make me blush.”

Kingsley snorted. “Are you thinking about doing something?”

“Yes.”

“It could get you sacked. I know Robards. He isn’t one for controversy.”

“No, he isn’t.” Harry sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know what my next step is. I just know I want to do something.”

“And you were hoping that I’d have some ideas.” Kingsley leaned back in his chair, petting one of his hounds. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to add. Only that you need to protect yourself. You won us the War, but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible. Gather a close few. Like you did during the War. Gather people who you can trust. Ask them to fight for you.”

Harry immediately thought of Ron and Hermione. It was funny, but he hadn’t considered asking for their help. He assumed they wouldn’t want anything to do with Malfoy or any other former Death Eater.

“Thank you.” Harry stood. “I apologize for dropping in like this.”

“One more thing,” Kingsley said. “Think hard about this. I know caution isn’t your best trait. Think hard about whether your job means anything to you. Whether you have any political ambitions. If you go against the Ministry, it might alienate you.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Harry shook Kingsley’s hand. “You keep out of trouble, too. Don’t thrash any unsuspecting Muggles.”

Kingsley grinned. “I can’t promise anything.”

*

When Harry arrived home, he heard banging in the kitchen. He rushed downstairs, alarmed.

Malfoy was agitated; he was despairing. Harry hovered in the kitchen doorway, not sure if he should give him privacy.

“Did you not get the position?” Harry asked quietly.

“Of course not!” Draco threw down a dish towel, his shoulders hunched. “I’m _useless_. I’ve got nowhere to go. I’ve got no money to pay you.”

Harry came closer. It took everything in him not to squeeze Malfoy’s shoulder. “I don’t want your money.”

Malfoy turned to him. He crowded Harry against the wall. “This doesn’t need to be all one-sided. I can repay you; maybe not with gold but with something else.”

“Please, you don’t need to do anything,” Harry said. “Let me just help you.”

Malfoy cupped him through his trousers, his palm incredibly warm. “Don’t you want this?”

“Christ!” Harry shuddered and bucked into his hand.

Malfoy smirked and whispered: “Do you want me to be your whore?” He dropped to his knees.

“Not here,” Harry said, grabbing at his shoulders. “God, not here.”

Malfoy unbuttoned his trousers and fished his cock out. “Looks like you’re ready to me.” He sucked him into his mouth.

“God,” Harry said, his head thudding back on the wall. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Draco Malfoy was sucking him off. Malfoy quickly bobbed his head, slurping; he inhaled noisily through his nose and took him deep into his throat. Harry cried out; Malfoy was choking himself on his cock.

Malfoy came up, coughing, gasping. “Fuck into my mouth,” he rasped. He took Harry back into his mouth, all the way down; Harry flailed; he didn’t know where to rest his hands. He rocked gently into Malfoy’s throat, afraid he’d hurt him. 

Impatient, Malfoy forced Harry’s hands to his head. Harry knew what he was asking him to do, but he hesitated. Malfoy moved on his cock faster and faster, his neck and back relaxed. He palmed Harry’s bollocks roughly.

“Fuck—I don’t want—”

“Do it,” Malfoy whispered, leaning back for air. “I deserve it.”

“Fuck, fuck.” Harry curled his fingers into Malfoy’s soft hair and tugged, which made Malfoy moan loudly. He held Malfoy’s head in place and thrust hard into his mouth, over and over. Christ. He couldn’t believe Malfoy was taking it; Malfoy kept his mouth open, saliva escaping his lips. Malfoy would take all his come; he would fucking _choke_ on Harry’s come.

Harry came with a shout. He had no idea he was even close. Malfoy swallowed it all down, his throat clicking. Harry trembled and moaned; he wanted the moment to never end.

“Oh, you,” Malfoy whispered, licking Harry’s cock clean. He stood and kissed Harry gently.

“You’re unbelievable.” Harry pulled him closer; he brushed his tongue against Malfoy’s lips, and Malfoy opened for him. He kissed and kissed Malfoy, tasting himself, their tongues brushing hotly.

“Fuck me,” Malfoy said.

Harry kissed his pointed chin, his sharp cheekbone. “Do you actually want me? You don’t need to do this to stay here.”

“Yes.” Malfoy pulled at his jumper, his hands cold on Harry’s stomach. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to hurt me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Harry tried to move away, but Malfoy grabbed his hand.

“Only a little.” He pulled Harry to the stairs. “Please.”

They went up to the lounge, then up to Malfoy’s bedroom. They fell back on the duvet. “Is this what you wanted? To make love to me on a bed?”

“God,” Harry said, and kissed Malfoy desperately. He knew Malfoy was having a laugh, but he didn’t care. He was already growing hard again, and Malfoy was hard for him. “Get your bloody clothes off.”

Malfoy huffed a laugh. “Yes, sir.” He unbuttoned his shirt and trousers, then slipped off his pants. He laid back, thighs wide. He turned his face away like he was embarrassed.

Harry sat back on his heels. Malfoy was gorgeous; breakable. His stomach trembled with breath, his nipples entirely too pink. His cock was long and flushed, but his skin was so pale it was almost blue. He had to stay away from Southwold and sunny days, or else he’d burst into flames.

The Dark Mark stood out on his arm. Harry stared at it for a moment. Draco tried to slip his arm under the duvet, but Harry stopped him.

“No, I don’t care.” He kissed the faded skull, over and over. Draco trembled, his eyes wide.

Harry licked his palm and stroked Malfoy’s twitching cock. “God, you’re so fucking sexy.”

“I’m old, used up,” Malfoy said. He pulled Harry’s hand away and widened his thighs even further. “I don’t want much prep. Slick me up and force your cock inside.”

Closing his eyes, Harry took a shuddering breath. He murmured a lube spell and reached down to feel Malfoy’s hole. He pushed a finger inside, and caught his breath. “You’re so tight,” he whined. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want it,” Malfoy said, twisting on his finger.

“You’ll bleed.”

“Get me wet; get me so fucking wet. I promise I can take it.”

Harry’s head spun. He should slow down; he should ask why Malfoy insisted on being hurt. Was it a kink? Had he internalized decades of hate? Harry didn’t know; he didn’t fucking know. He removed his clothes and Conjured up more lube to slick his cock; he crouched over Malfoy and teased his arse with his wet cockhead.

“Look at me,” Harry whispered. Malfoy opened his eyes. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want it.” Malfoy pulled him closer. “I want you.”

Harry thrust into him slowly. It was work; Malfoy clung to him, almost pushing him out. When he slid all the way in, Harry couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t fucking think. Malfoy was tense beneath him; he was in pain.

Malfoy thrashed a little; he dug his fingernails into Harry’s shoulders. “Stop being a minge. _Fuck me._ ”

Moaning, Harry tried thrusting in earnest, but Christ, it was too tight. He rocked into Malfoy, urging his flesh to open to him. Malfoy shuddered and twisted; he gasped loudly as Harry sped up.

Harry was speaking. He hadn’t a clue what he was saying. “Malfoy, Malfoy. God. God.”

“Harder,” Malfoy gasped.

“I can’t. Oh, God, I can’t.”

Malfoy grabbed his hips and urged him faster. “You fucking pathetic—”

Harry thrust hard, their flesh smacking together. Malfoy cried out. He’d never made someone sound like that during sex. Malfoy sounded afraid.

Harry pressed his open mouth to Malfoy’s cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

“Fuck you,” Malfoy said, arching up. He smoothed his hand along Harry’s bum, then dipped down to finger his arsehole.

“Christ—” Harry’s thrusts lost rhythm. He was going to come. He was going to come while Malfoy played with his arse.

“You’re so hard inside me,” Malfoy whispered. “You’re desperate. I want you to fill me up.” Malfoy squeezed a fingertip into his arse, and that did it: Harry came loudly, blindly. He pumped over and over; he finished so hard he was convinced he tore flesh.

For a while, he just lay against Malfoy, panting into his neck. He was afraid to pull out. He was afraid to see the damage. His cock slipped out on its own; Malfoy flinched. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered.

Malfoy laughed lowly. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” He rested Harry’s hand on his half-hard cock. “Get me off.”

Harry gathered some lube from his thighs and stroked him quickly. He kissed Malfoy, nibbling his lips, tasting his teeth. Malfoy arched and whimpered into his mouth. It took some time, but at the cusp of orgasm, he whispered, “Harry,” and came. Harry watched him greedily.

When Malfoy had calmed down, Harry kissed his wet stomach, his trembling thighs. He probed for any damage and encountered only a little blood. “Are you in a lot of pain?” he murmured.

“No.”

“Do you want me to heal you?”

Malfoy shook his head. “Just clean me up.”

Harry hit him with a few cleaning spells and then gathered him up in his arms. He kissed Malfoy’s forehead. “I’m sorry about the job. Can Scorpius do anything?”

“No.” Malfoy clung to Harry. “Scorpius barely knew the man. Luck just wasn’t on my side.”

“What does Scorpius do?”

“He’s a Potions Master. Certified. Studied in Spain. I’m so damn proud of him.”

“Is that what you wanted to become? If you’d had the choice.”

Malfoy inhaled. “Yes. He accomplished what I couldn’t, and it’s the greatest achievement of my life.”

Harry kissed him, and kissed him. He wanted to convey everything he couldn’t with words. Malfoy’s love for his son touched him deeply.

“Stay with me?” Malfoy whispered.

“Of course,” Harry said, and pulled the duvet over their shoulders.

*

Draco meant for it to happen. He did. He could be compulsive, obsessive; desire ate at him like a disease. He’d never been good at saying no.

She was young. So, so young. He was old; around her, he felt like he was tiptoeing death. He felt like the oldest person alive until she looked at him. She wanted him. She wanted him from the first moment she saw him. The shop had been warm that day, the potions brewing beneath their feet, the white summer light beating against the windows. Her eyes lingered on him. Somehow they were like Potter’s eyes without being green. They were the same shape but hazel. He had always secretly liked freckles.

Life was ridiculous. He never would’ve guessed he’d be in Potter’s bed a few months later. He hadn’t even known Potter was into men. This thing with Potter was . . . good. It was thrilling. It made him feel like a human being. He sensed that it meant something to Potter, and perhaps it meant something to him too, but it was never going to last. Sooner or later, Potter would find out what Draco had done, and whatever was going on between them would end; but, for the time being, Draco would enjoy Potter fucking his brains out. He would enjoy Potter making him feel like he mattered. He just needed to avoid Lily at all costs.

*

The next day, Harry visited Ron and Hermione. He’d spent the morning in bed with Malfoy, and it’d been difficult to say goodbye to him, but he wanted to speak to his mates as soon as possible. He wanted the anxious tightening in his stomach to just disappear.

When he stepped from their Floo, the lounge was empty and quiet. He called out to them, but didn’t receive a reply. Even the cat seemed to be out.

He went to the window. They were in their garden, enjoying the sunny day. Hermione wore a large sunhat and Ron had on his mid-life crisis sunglasses.

“Knock, knock,” Harry said from their back door.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione jumped from her chair. She gave him a big hug. “I’m sorry I haven’t owled. I’ve been terribly busy.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said, smiling. He waved to Ron. “Hanging in there, Old Man?”

“Just barely.” Ron came over and motioned for Harry to sit down. “I’ll get us some beers.”

Hermione sat down, too. She looked closely at Harry’s face. “There’s something different about you.”

Harry laughed. “You mean I look happy.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“I am.” Harry smiled widely. He couldn’t help it. He _was_ happy.

Hermione frowned; her eyes searched his face. “You’re with somebody,” she concluded. He nodded, not dropping his smile. “But who could it be?”

“You know him.”

Ron emerged from the house holding three beers. “Who do we know?”

“The bloke I’m seeing,” Harry said, trying not to be awkward. Sometimes it was hard for him to talk about these things with Ron.

“You’re seeing someone and haven’t told me?”

Harry sipped his beer. “It’s recent. Very, very recent.”

Hermione was still scrutinizing him. Her eyes widened. “No, it couldn’t be. It’s not . . . _Malfoy_?”

Ron choked on his beer. “What did you say?”

“It’s true.” Harry refused to be ashamed or embarrassed. “I’m seeing Malfoy.”

“ _Draco_ Malfoy?”

“Who else?” Harry laughed.

“But . . . but you hate him!” Ron said, sounding very much like his younger self.

“Water under the bridge,” Harry said.

Ron gaped. “He was a Death Eater!”

“Yes, but that was over twenty years ago. Isn’t it time we forgave him?” Harry didn’t like how this conversation was turning out.

“I don’t know.” Ron gulped from his beer, clearly shaken. “I guess we can forgive him if you can.”

“What about that nasty business with Mr Blackwood? Has he recovered from his injuries?” Hermione said.

“Still ongoing.” Harry took a deep breath. “It’s one of the reasons why I came over to talk to you.”

“Is there a mystery to be solved?” Ron looked very excited.

“No,” Harry said, smiling again. “I want to do something to help people like Malfoy. I want to end the Ministry’s discrimination of former Death Eaters.”

“You want to bring a lawsuit,” Hermione said.

Harry frowned. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

She was silent for a moment. “I think that’s fantastic.”

“You do?” Harry asked, surprised. Ron looked surprised too.

“Of course! The Ministry is ridiculous. There’s a reason why they employed people like Umbridge and Fudge. They still support the discrimination of many magical creatures.”

“Oh, Hermione,” Ron said, rubbing his face. “Do we really have to do this again?”

“It’s been years since we’ve done anything!”

Ron shook his head. “Did both of you forget how we battled bloody Death Eaters? How they killed Fred and Lupin and Tonks?”

“There’s _countless_ laws that target them; even some of their children are disenfranchised,” Harry said.

Ron hesitated. “It’s not their fault their parents decided to be arseholes.”

“Exactly,” Harry said. “Something needs to change.”

“I know someone who could possibly help us,” Hermione said. “I’ve talked to her about my frustrations and I know she feels the same way about all this.”

“You want to ask _Lavender_?” Ron said.

Harry was confused. “Lavender? Like Lavender Brown?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “She’s a solicitor now. A very good one.”

Ron covered his face. “We really are going to involve Lavender.”

“Oh, get over yourself. Nobody except you still cares that you two dated.” Hermione stared past them into the garden, thinking. “I could owl her. Let her know our intentions.”

“No, we shouldn’t write anything down,” Harry said, remembering Kingsley’s caution. “We need to be careful.”

“Merlin,” Ron muttered.

“Good thinking.” She Summoned parchment and quill. “I’ll just ask her to schedule a Floo call with me. Maybe even lunch.”

“Are you going to mention my name?” Harry asked.

“Of course,” Hermione said, writing. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

Harry thought about it. “If I’m involved, I will be the face of this lawsuit. Is that wise?”

“I’ll see what Lavender thinks.” Hermione called their owl Vicky (named affectionately after Krum) to her. Hermione sealed up the letter and tied it to her leg. They watched as Vicky disappeared into the hazy afternoon sky.

“I learned about Magnolia,” Harry said, and then added, “By the way.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. “James told me not to tell you or Ginny.”

“What do you think about her?”

“Oh, she’s lovely,” Hermione said. “A really clever girl.”

“That’s good,” Harry said.

Ron nodded. “I met her. She seems nice.”

“What does she do at St Mungo’s?”

“She originally worked for me, but she was transferred to our recruitment division. We’re short staffed and not many are applying.”

Frowning, Harry said, “People don’t want to be healers? That’s mad.”

“It’s not the healers we need. Mediwitches and wizards. Assistant Potioneers. Caretakers.”

“Oh,” Harry said, already thinking about Malfoy. He decided to visit St Mungo’s after he said goodbye to them. “Have you had your lunch? I’m starving.”

“No, let’s eat.” Hermione stood.

“We’ve got leftover chicken and rolls,” Ron said, brightening. “I could whip us up something.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, following them back indoors.

*

After lunch, Harry Apparated to St Mungo’s. The place was busy; he kept his head down in the lobby and lift. By chance he stumbled on the recruitment office on the fourth level. He knocked and the door clicked open.

“Hello,” said a woman behind the desk. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” he said from the doorway. “I’m here to see Magnolia.” He realized he didn’t know her last name.

She looked him up and down; then a strange expression came over her face. “You’re Harry Potter.”

“Yes.”

She stood and came around her desk. “I’m Magnolia.”

He shook her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you finally.”

“I agree,” she said, a little pained. “Please have a seat.” She closed the door.

He sat. “I was delighted when I found out you worked at St Mungo’s.”

“Oh?” She perched at the edge of her chair. She was petite and blonde; her eyes reminded him of Luna’s. “Does James know you’re here?”

“I’m afraid not,” Harry said. “I don’t mean to put you in a weird spot.”

“No, it’s fine.” She smiled at him, but her eyes were worried.

“I’m intruding. I was so excited to meet you that I didn’t even think about it.”

“No, no, I’m glad we’re meeting.”

“Thank you for being so gracious. I hear you’re holding a benefit?”

She brightened. “Yes, I am! I was thrilled when James told me you had agreed to attend.”

“Good, good. I must admit that I came here for another reason.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I have a friend who needs a job.”

“Do they have any qualifications? Any skills?”

“They have a lot of experience brewing potions.”

“Do they have a criminal record?”

“Yes.” He steeled himself and added, “He is also a former Death Eater.”

She flinched. “It would be illegal to employ him.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I read that he could gain employment if he received a license. Do you know anything about that?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“So, St Mungo’s has never employed someone with Death Eater ties?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

He sighed. “There’s nothing you could do? Nothing _I_ could do?”

She looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

Hating himself a little, he charged on. “I have money and a good reputation; I could bring a lot of potential donors to your benefit.”

“You would do that if I gave your friend a job?”

“Yes.” He gazed at her steadily.

She sat back in her chair and twirled her hair. “There could be a loophole.”

“Tell me more.”

“We could hire him on as an intern. He just wouldn’t have certain professional privileges like access to our medical supplies.”

“How do you know this will work?”

She sighed. “I don’t, but it’s worth a try. You understand we wouldn’t be able to give him a full salary. We could come close, but not full.”

“This all sounds very promising. I’ll propose it to my friend and then get back to you.” He smiled again. “Did you meet James at Hogwarts?”

“Oh, no.” Magnolia flushed a little. “I mean, I was in the year above and we knew of each other, but I’d never dream of approaching James Potter.”

“Even though you were a year above?”

“Yes. Most students were awed. Most people are awed.”

“And what do you think now?”

She laughed. “I think I shouldn’t have been such a coward.”

“So, you two are getting on?”

“I think so,” she said a little stiffly.

“Sorry. That was rude of me to ask. It’s none of my business.” He stood. “Is there anything you need from me right now?”

She hesitated, and for a horrible moment, he thought she’d ask for an autograph. “If I get your friend this job, you promise to do all that you said?”

“Of course.”

“Will you give a speech?”

He grimaced. “If you can get my friend a position working with potions—I heard you need assistant potioneers—then yes, I will give a speech.”

“Great.” She stood and shook his hand. “It was lovely to meet you. I go by Lia, by the way.”

“Lia,” he repeated, and then remembered Lily referencing a friend named Lia. “Are you mates with my daughter, Lily?”

Magnolia blinked. “Yes, I am.”

“Have you spoken to her recently? If you talk to her soon, tell her to come see me.”

Her pained expression was back. “I’ll relay the message if I get a chance.”

*

After he left the Ministry, he raced home to tell Malfoy about the potential job. He was in the foyer when it occurred to him that Malfoy might consider it a handout. He heard banging in the kitchen and descended the stairs.

“Cooking for me again?” he said.

Malfoy smirked at him. “It’s just another stew. It won’t be done for a while.” They sat down at the table and Malfoy Summoned them some Butterbeers. “How was your day?”

Harry couldn’t take how _domestic_ Malfoy was being. It thrilled him.

“It was brilliant. Fantastic. I spoke to Ron and Hermione; then went over to St Mungo’s to finally meet the woman my son is dating.”

“Which son?”

“Jamie.” Harry drummed his fingers; he didn’t know what to tell Malfoy about the lawsuit and his meeting with Magnolia. He didn’t want to get Malfoy’s hopes up. “I might’ve nabbed you a job.”

Malfoy stared. “What do you mean?”

“Jamie’s girlfriend Magnolia. She said that she probably has a job for you.”

“At St Mungo’s? Impossible. I need a license to work there, and the Ministry never gives out those licenses.”

“Never?”

“Never.” Malfoy took a shuddering breath. “Thanks for trying to help.”

Harry frowned. “She said they could hire you as an intern. You wouldn’t make a full salary, but you’d make something close to it.”

“Is this really going to happen?” Malfoy looked stunned.

“Yes, I think so. I promised to make a speech at her little benefit, and she seemed hesitant but optimistic about this job for you.”

“You made promises to her? For me?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, uncomfortable. “I know you don’t like handouts, but I saw the opportunity and took it.”

“You were thinking about me. You were talking to your son’s girlfriend and you thought about me.”

“I’m always thinking about you.”

“Potter,” Malfoy whispered. He framed Harry’s face and kissed him. Harry moaned and wrapped his arms around him, deepening the kiss. “Let me make you feel good.”

“God.”

Malfoy threw a charm at the stew, then took Harry up to his bedroom. He pushed Harry on the bed and crawled on top of him. “Please. I want to make you feel good. I want to make you feel so good.”

“You already are.” Harry smoothed his hands up and down his strong thighs. Malfoy kissed him deeply; he tasted like tea and herbs. Harry groaned and arched against him.

Malfoy undressed him slowly. He mouthed along his shoulders, lapped at his nipples. He dipped his tongue in the hair on his chest, then followed it down to his navel. Harry laughed and tried to twist away. Malfoy unbuttoned his trousers with his teeth.

“God,” Harry said, trying not to flail. Malfoy pushed down his trousers and mouthed him through his pants. Harry was already fully hard.

“I want you to come in my arse,” Malfoy said, sitting up. He did away with the rest of their clothes, then straddled Harry’s hips again. He stroked Harry, his fingers squeezing, his palm weighing. “Of course your cock is big.”

Harry laughed breathlessly. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Perhaps,” Malfoy said, grinning down at him. Harry tried to reach for him but Malfoy evaded his hands. “No, I want you to just lie there. I don’t want you to do any work.”

“You’re ruining me.”

Malfoy’s grin widened. He muttered a lube spell. He slicked Harry up and pressed two fingers into his own arse. His eyes fluttered closed, his mouth falling into a concentrated frown. “I can’t wait until you’re inside me.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said.

“Shh. I can’t wait until you’re splitting me open.” Malfoy positioned Harry’s cock, then slowly worked it inside him. Harry closed his eyes. Christ, it felt so good.

When Harry was all the way in, Malfoy, trembling, muttering, rocked on his cock. “Look at me.”

Harry opened his eyes; he felt trapped; he felt like he would never escape.

“You pity me,” Malfoy whispered. “I know you do.”

“No, no,” Harry said, barely able to focus.

“You do, but that’s okay.” Malfoy rose, then went back down; his chest was flushed pink. He stroked himself. “I’m going to cover you in my come.”

Harry twisted his hands in the sheets. “Malfoy.”

“You think I’m pathetic.”

“No.”

Harry hit a pleasurable spot and Malfoy threw his head back.

“You feel so good.” Malfoy fell forward to rest his hands on either side of Harry. He sped up his movement; Harry’s eyes rolled up.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” Harry whimpered. He thrust without thinking about it, nearly unseating Malfoy.

“Do it,” Malfoy said, squeezing around his cock. Harry came hard, his whole body going numb with it. Malfoy moaned loudly; he stroked himself quickly, trying to catch up. Harry felt semen hit his stomach, his chest, and knew Malfoy was coming too.

Harry pulled out gently and rolled them over. He kissed Malfoy deeply, pressing their bodies together, wet come smearing between them. Malfoy clutched at him like he needed an anchor.

“I don’t think you’re pathetic,” Harry said. “I respect you.”

“I know.” Malfoy pressed his forehead to Harry’s neck. “Merlin, I’m exhausted.”

“Sleep now. You’re safe with me.”

Malfoy sighed. “Thank you.”

*

In the morning, Harry woke up alone in bed. He stretched and yawned; he felt so damn relaxed. He took his time showering and shaving; when he finally came down to the lounge, he heard raised voices in the kitchen.

Frowning, he went downstairs and stopped abruptly. Lily was pointing in Malfoy’s face and yelling at him. Malfoy jerked when he spotted Harry.

“Lily?” Harry asked.

Her cheeks were red, her eyes wide and tearful. “Dad,” she sobbed.

He came toward her. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

She swerved to Malfoy. “Tell him!”

Malfoy gulped. He looked scared; he looked cornered. “Please calm down. I will, but you need to calm down.”

“You make me sick.” She grabbed a glass of milk on the counter and threw it in his face.

“Lily! What the hell?” Harry said. 

“Dad, I need to speak to you alone.”

“Okay,” Harry said, going numb. Malfoy’s face dripped with milk, but he did nothing to wipe it away. “We can talk upstairs.”

When they made it to the lounge, Lily collapsed in his arms, crying. “Oh, Dad.”

He kissed her temple. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” she whispered.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Draco. You’re sleeping with him.”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. _Draco._ He didn’t even call Malfoy by his first name. “Yes, I am.”

“Oh, Dad.” She clutched at him. “I can’t say it. You need to stay away from him. You must tell him to leave.”

“But why? What do you know?” Harry barely felt himself speak.

“I can’t. You must ask him.” She tore away from him and went to the Floo. She covered her face, her shoulders shaking. She muttered her destination and disappeared amid the flames.

“You should sit down,” Malfoy said from the doorway.

“What the hell is going on?”

Malfoy shook his head. “Please sit, then I’ll tell you.”

Harry dropped into a chair. He looked at Malfoy expectantly.

Malfoy breathed a deep, trembling breath. He came closer, but not by much. “We worked together in Blackwood’s shop.”

“Okay,” Harry said, mind whirling.

“We worked very closely together. We spent a lot of time together alone in the cellar.” Malfoy stared at the wall past Harry’s head. “We were romantically involved.”

Harry stood. “What the hell does that mean?” His heart pounded painfully.

“It means that we slept together.”

Harry’s knees weakened. He fell back, aiming for the chair, but he landed on the floor.

“Let me help you up,” Malfoy said, stepping forward.

“No, no.” Harry cradled his head. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. “You need to leave.”

“Yes, of course.” Malfoy went up to his room. A few minutes later, he came back down with his trunks. “I apologize if I leave anything behind.”

Harry laughed. He was still on the floor. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I know,” Malfoy said, strained. Harry couldn’t look at him. He went to the Floo, his trunks banging together in the air. “Harry.”

“Fuck you,” Harry said, covering his face with an arm.

“I’m sorry.” Malfoy stuttered a destination, then disappeared.

Harry laid back on the floor. It took him a long time to realize he was crying.


	2. Chapter 2

When Draco left Grimmauld Place, his heart pounded too hard for him to think clearly. He went to the one place he felt safe: Knockturn Alley. He paid for a night at the only inn with vacancies. Inside the old room, he let his trunks drop to the weak floorboards. He methodically undressed, then crawled under the scratchy duvet. The bed was stained, the pillows smelling of mold. He thought: _Maybe I will kill myself._

Laughter overwhelmed him. He pressed his face to a pillow, his shoulders shaking. He sobbed. He was disgusting. He was worthless. Potter had been an absolute fool to show him kindness.

This wasn’t the time to lose control of himself. This was a time for action; he had little money and nowhere to live. He couldn’t bear asking Scorpius to owl him Galleons. He’d rather starve.

 _Maybe that’d be for the best._ His entire life had been one mistake. No one would miss him if he was gone. Scorpius didn’t need him in Spain. He had his success, his mates. He was probably embarrassed when people discovered he was a Malfoy.

Harry.

It hurt him to think the name. The weight of his betrayal crushed the breath from him. He gasped. Harry had looked devastated on the floor. He’d looked like he would never stand again. Draco did that to him.

At some point, Draco fell asleep and dreamed he was back at Hogwarts. He ran for his life in the corridors. No doors opened for him; he banged his fists at every entrance, begging to be let in. _Don’t leave me out here! I’m afraid!_ The portraits taunted him. _Potter’s coming_ , they said. _He’ll destroy you._ When he awoke, it took him a moment to remember. It was dusk; the window gave off murky light that reminded him of milky dregs. His stomach throbbed with hunger, but he didn’t have the will to leave his bed.

He had to speak to Harry. Explain himself. Maybe Harry’d understand . . . maybe he’d agree to meet. Maybe there was a chance they could move past this.

He Summoned parchment and quill from one of his trunks. He pushed himself up in bed, cursing. He needed a drink. He stared at the crinkled parchment, thinking, determined. What to say to make it all better?

There were things he couldn’t say: _I’ve wanted you since we were children_ or _I only did it because she was your daughter_. He was so messed up inside he didn’t know what was true. _I don’t know myself_ , he wrote. 

Harry’d been so soft, so open. Everything was broadcasted on his face. The world hadn’t destroyed him; there was no reason for him to hide. There was no reason for him to fancy Draco; to invite him into his home and virtually beg to shag him. It was all in his bright eyes: _Please desire me. Touch me. Take care of me._

He heard Harry’s voice in his ear: _I’m always thinking about you._ He crumbled up the parchment and threw it into the bin. There was no point. Now Harry knew he was scum. He knew not to let Draco get close, because, in the end, Draco would always hurt him. 

“It’s true,” Draco said to the empty air. “I ruin everything.”

He slumped down, too overwhelmed to remain upright. How to go on when he hated himself this much? He wanted to walk away from himself; not answer his owls. He wanted to lock him in a room and Vanish the key.

St Mungo’s. That was what he’d do tomorrow. He’d go see this Magnolia woman about the position. The offer would disappear when Harry talked to her again, but, for the time being, maybe he could impress a few important people. 

As he drifted back to sleep, the last thing he heard was Harry’s voice in his ear: _I can’t believe you did this to me._

*

It hadn’t all been bad.

Somehow Draco had learned to enjoy his life. He had Scorpius. He had his books. He wasn’t a certified Potions Master, but he’d found a way to brew for a living. Working in shops wasn’t that bad.

He’d gotten used to the sneers, to the hisses. He’d developed nerves of steel. He’d taught himself how to smile through the hate. They could shove him in the street, curse him when he wasn’t looking, laugh in his face when he asked for employment, and still he wasn’t beaten. He worried about his son. He’d tried to shield him from the hate, the pain, but he couldn’t prevent Astoria’s death. At thirteen Scorpius’d lost his mother, his confidante, and Draco was left to pick up the pieces. They did the best they could. Nearly ten years later, Draco thought they’d recovered, but a boy never got over the loss of his mother. Draco still yearned for his.

Draco had known Mr Blackwood for years. Blackwood was scum, pitiful; he was dangerous. Draco liked working for him because he was left alone. Other shop owners didn’t trust him to brew without poisoning, to stock their shelves and sell their goods without stealing, but Blackwood knew Draco was too desperate to cheat him.

Diagon Alley had forgotten Bractus Blackwood was a Slytherin. He was the darling of customers and a friend of the Ministry.

Things changed when Lily was hired on. Blackwood liked her. He lit up when she was in the room. She was competition. She could help the customers without needing a disguise. Draco could see Blackwood doing the calculations. Draco was dispensable.

Lily was barely out of Hogwarts, but she was hired as Draco’s equal. On her first day, he walked her down to the potions lab in the cellar, smirking a little as he quickly showed her all the complex equipment and fired off the long list of potions he was brewing using only their acronyms or Latin names. She was no novice. She was also no fool.

“Hold on,” she said, and held up a small jar of very expensive Ostrichbuck feathers to the faint gaslight. “How does Mr Blackwood afford ingredients like this?”

Draco leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. “Are you alarmed?”

She tilted her head. “Should I be?”

“I guess it depends.”

“You guess?” She set down the bottle. She moved about the room, touching nothing. She passed Draco, her pretty scent trailing after her. She looked at him. “Do you enjoy the work?”

“Yes.” He pushed off the wall and came closer. “I’ve always loved brewing.”

“What about the customers?”

“They are tolerable.”

She laughed. “I expected as much.”

“Why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

He gestured vaguely. “Working in a shop. With your last name, you could do anything.”

Her face fell. She looked angry, maybe a bit sad.

“You seem like an intelligent girl.”

“I am.”

“Then turn around and walk out. This is beneath you.”

She raised her chin. “I’ll determine that for myself, thanks.”

“Too bad.” He held open the door for her. “We store the ingredients with light sensitivity in here.” She brushed against him on her way through the door. He stared at her arse.

*

St Mungo’s was brighter than he remembered. The last time he was here, Scorpius’d been small enough to hold. He thrashed in Draco’s arms, coughing, crying. He ran a fever and his throat was too swollen to eat or drink. The mediwitch had been polite and gentle with Scorpius, but Draco felt the eyes of other patients: glaring, hostile, wishing for Scorpius to cough and cough until he was no longer a problem.

Draco gripped his wand in his pocket as he read over the directory. He only had ‘Magnolia’ to go by, but the name wasn’t common, and he figured he’d found the right person when his eyes landed on Magnolia Spencer under Careers and Recruitment. 

He took the lift to her office, not allowing himself to focus on his trepidation. The worst she could say was no. He hated that he was in his forties and still needed to comfort himself like this.

The corridor outside her office was clean and empty, with charmed windows that reflected a cloudless sky. He took a deep breath and knocked on her door. There was some rustling, then a woman’s soft voice: “Come in!”

He went inside. The woman behind the desk was as young as he expected. Her eyes widened slightly, then she seemed to understand.

“Are you Mr Potter’s friend?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, and closed the door behind him.

“Please have a seat.” She slid a stack of parchment to him. “Fill this out. I hope Mr Potter explained you will be an intern?”

He nodded. “What’s the compensation?”

“A hundred Galleons a week,” she said. “You will be paid biweekly.”

He blinked at her. He couldn’t remember a time he made so much money. It was almost enough for a flat outside Knockturn Alley. “What will I be doing?”

She looked away. “You will be one of our caretakers. Please let me know if this is a deal breaker. Mr Potter expressed a desire for you to work with potions, but, since you don’t have a license, that option is too risky for us.”

“Right,” he said. “Do you have a quill?”

“Of course,” she said, and levitated him one.

When he completed the application, he gave the stack back to her, then stood. “When do I start?”

“Tomorrow? We are desperate for another caretaker. The things that end up on our floors . . . ” She stood as well and directed him into the corridor. “Let me show you.”

The stairwells were sticky from spilled tea and coated fingertips; the floors of certain corridors were even worse. They toured the levels he’d work; she tapped her wand on a thick black door and they stepped into an enormous potions lab.

“Wow,” he said under his breath.

She smiled at him. “You can’t forget to empty the bins and sweep under the tables. Unfortunately, you must do this by hand in here. The potions are too sensitive.” She motioned to some parchment spelled to the wall. “You must mark every duty you complete.”

“Got it.” He tried not to stare at all the expensive brewing equipment. He was already thinking about when he could return alone and examine every piece closely.

“Any questions?”

“No,” he said, smiling.

She stuck her hand out to him. “Welcome to St Mungo’s.”

*

When he returned to the inn, he put his name down for another night and went up to his room. He fished out a half-empty bottle of whiskey from his trunk, then positioned himself in front of the blackened fireplace.

He drank without enjoyment, gulping quickly, his throat burning. He wanted to fall into oblivion. Instead, he thought of Harry. 

Harry was probably still at work. When he made it back to Grimmauld Place, he’d putter about the dark kitchen, muttering under his breath, cursing Slytherins. After dinner, he’d sink to the floor in front of his Floo and call on his mates about his grievances. _Can you believe it?_ he’d say to Granger or Weasley. _I let him into my home! I got him a job! Malfoy’s nothing but a cheat, a liar. Mr Blackwood was right all along_. 

Twisting in his seat, Draco hid his face. He couldn’t bear it. He was sorry. He wished he could take it all back. _Please!_ he wanted to say to Harry. _She meant nothing to me. Utterly nothing!_

But that wasn’t entirely true. There’d been feelings. Of course there’d been feelings. He just hadn’t showed them. Not even to himself. It’d been about control. He’d meant to hurt her.

This position at St Mungo’s would never last. He’d be surprised if Magnolia waited until Monday to sack him. Surely Harry had owled her by now. Surely he’d told her, _Never mind. You can’t trust the man._

Draco would wait it out. Maybe he could get a paycheque or two from them. In the meantime, he had to come up with plan B.

*

Lily turned out to be a brilliant brewer. They worked alongside each other for the first month, day after day alone in the lab together.

At first, he tested her. He gave her pathetic chores to mock her. “Clean these rooster heads and don’t overlook the crevices,” he said, but what he really meant was _I don’t think you’re competent._

She took his orders in stride. She diligently cleaned rooster heads and scorpion stingers; she crushed mountains of beetles and categorized rat tails. He watched her hands, her eyes. He liked it when she shouldered off her robes. She liked to wear Muggle dresses that fell above her knees. When he passed her, he breathed in her perfume.

Then, about two months after her arrival, she began to touch him. 

He read it as a young woman not understanding her sexual power. She touched his side, his shoulder; her thigh slipped against his under tables, her fingers briefly kissing his knee or hip. When he looked at her, she blushed and struggled to hold eye contact. He was immediately aroused. Did she know he could eat her alive?

He began to let her brew her own potions and criticize some of his techniques. 

“You’re very good at this,” he whispered in her ear.

She leered at him bravely. “You’ve no idea.”

When they came together, it was a quick burn to the top. After weeks of her glances, her shy touches, he was starving, eager, manipulative. He dropped to his knees and opened his mouth to her soft knickers. He didn’t take her against the wall only because it was what she expected. He wanted to unbalance her, challenge her; he wanted to push her to the edge and watch her fall.

They were down in the lab after hours, their supper half-eaten on a table in the corner. Blackwood was at home with his family.

He pushed her knickers to the side and sunk his tongue in her. She cried out, trembling, overcome. Her pubic hair was soft against his mouth; she was so wet for him he nearly choked.

“Draco,” she whispered, back arching, and he realized she’d never said his first name. He moved his tongue inside her; he worked her clit with his thumb. She smeared his chin; saliva pooled in his mouth and dripped down his front. It was disgusting; it was overwhelming; it was the most erotic moment of his life. She throbbed around his tongue, so velvety, so warm. His cock ached. He wanted to slide into her, hard, no prep necessary. Fucking a woman was just so _easy_.

She orgasmed only when he used his fingers, stroking, probing, faster and faster. Her knees gave out and she rode out the pleasure with him pinned to the floor beneath her. He left her on the floor to recover and went to the toilet to wash his mouth, neck, and fingers. When he returned, she’d collected herself; she leaned against the table, her limbs loose, her eyes bright and confident.

 _Slow down_ , he thought, and ignored his own advice. He grabbed her neck, lightly, his thumb stroking beneath her chin. He kissed her, waiting for her lips to part; he stuck his tongue into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself. She moaned.

He drew back to look at her. “Do you really want this?” He tightened his hold on her neck.

“Yeah,” she whispered, and her eyes were half-closed. He wanted to choke her. He wanted to shake her. _Run_ , he thought. _Run before it’s too late._

He spun her around and pressed on her back until she bent over the table. He hiked up her dress and yanked down her knickers. He parted her cheeks to stare at her arsehole. She gasped. She was younger than Scorpius. 

He made quick work of his trousers and pants. He dragged his cock between her cheeks. She panted.

“Feel that?” he whispered in her ear.

“Barely,” she said.

He hated her. 

He slid into her, and she was wet and desperate, clutching him. He thrust hard and fast, and she opened so nicely for him.

He fisted her hair and panted into her neck. “Still want this?”

“Yes.” She stuttered and trembled.

“Good, because I’m going to come.”

She moaned and arched into him. “You can come inside me.”

This took him by surprise, and he came suddenly, pathetically. He slumped against her, gasping into her hair. He pulled out and his come dripped down her thighs. 

She handed him his wand. “Clean me up. Don’t overlook the crevices.”

Afterward, she Conjured a blanket and coaxed him to lay on the floor with her.

She Summoned a cigarette from her purse and offered him one. He shook his head.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” he said.

She puffed on her cigarette and grinned at him. “But it was so much fun.” He touched her cheek, glimpsing what her face had looked like as a child. Her features hadn’t settled yet.

He stood with a groan. He never wanted to lay on a floor again. 

She threw him his trousers. “Get dressed, Grandpa.” He sent her a murderous look.

*

Remembering all that’d happened between them, Draco knew he needed to apologize. He should’ve never gotten involved with her father.

He didn’t know where to begin. He knew he had to keep his distance; he would never want to traumatize her further. He sat down with quill and parchment and wrote: _I’m sorry for violating you_ , but he couldn’t bear seeing the word _violating_. He tore up the parchment and began anew. He wrote the first thing that came to mind: _I’m a coward. I’m sorry. I hurt you. I manipulated you. I violated you. You were too young to know you should’ve said no. You were naïve enough to think you had power. I am broken; I am not a good person. It felt good to hurt you. It kills me now. I flinch from the memory. Your life will go on. You will flourish. You are too brilliant, too strong, to hide away. My only hope is that one day you will look back on the days in that dark cellar and pity me for being a sad, sad man._

He sent the owl before he could change his mind. He tore off the top to his whiskey and drank directly from the bottle. How long would it take to drink himself to death?

The next morning he received a reply: _STAY AWAY FROM MY FATHER._ Draco pressed the parchment to his chest; he hung his head in shame, in obedience. He thought: _Potter will never forgive me anyway._

*

At St Mungo’s, the work was mind numbing and embarrassing. He still put all his effort into it. He kept his head down as he directed the brooms and mops; he felt like a musical conductor. He crouched on his knees to Vanish the dust on the floorboards. If hospital staff recognized him, they didn’t say anything, and he preferred it that way. He was long passed having an ego, but he’d rather not talk about it.

It was hard not to let his mind wander. He imagined his younger self watching him clean up other people’s muck; he imagined his father watching him on his hands and knees doing a job that was meant for a Squib. _You did this,_ Draco wanted to say to his father. _You and your ambition, your cruelty._ If Draco wasn’t careful, he’d spend the rest of his life silently yelling at his father. Who needed friends when you had the memory of your dead parents rattling in your brain?

In the potions lab, he kept his eyes off the gleaming equipment, the fragrant ingredients. He cleaned by hand, just like Magnolia wanted. His thighs burned as he squatted to empty each bin. He was old. He needed the exercise.

It was quite dark in the lab. As he worked, he thought about Harry. What Draco’d do if he was here. Draco couldn’t stop thinking about him. He ached for him. He wished he could stick his head in a fireplace and talk to him. 

In the dark, Draco wouldn’t have to see the betrayal in his eyes. He’d kiss Harry, his lips conveying everything words couldn’t. He’d sink to his knees and choke himself on Harry’s cock until everything was better. Harry was gorgeous; but he reminded Draco of the war and his decades-long inadequacies. It was why Draco had been so eager to please; it was why he’d cooked and cleaned. Maybe his life would be worth something if he made Harry Potter happy.

 _We don’t have to speak_ , he’d whisper in the dark. _Please. I’ll do anything_.

He shivered and tried to focus on wiping down all the workspaces. This wasn’t the time to think about Harry. This was the time for professionalism and shrewd calculation. 

As time went on, and the hospital verified his employment, Draco began to plot. Somehow they had been dumb enough to employ him, to leave him alone around drool-worthy brewing equipment; it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. The question was how would he make his mark without alarming or overstepping his role? Given the opportunity, he knew he could impress. He just couldn’t get sacked in the process.

One day he awoke to an urgent tapping on his small window. He was still staying at the inn, but he knew he had to find a flat soon. Blinking through his grogginess, he stumbled to the window to let in a harassed owl. It zipped around the room, complaining, its black eyes full of hostility. Draco allowed the owl to calm down, then took the note tied to its leg and gave it a nibble of his old toast.

“Sorry it was so hard to find me,” he said, and the owl hooted dismissively.

Draco dropped to his bed and opened the note. It was from Granger; he read her message with his mouth hanging open, surprised.

_Harry told me what happened. While I don’t condone your actions, I want to learn more about your arrest. Will you meet me tomorrow? Harry won’t be there. Please confirm ASAP. -HGW_

Granger-Weasley. Right. He laughed and shook his head. For some reason, he could never think of her as a Weasley. _Lily is a Weasley,_ said a voice in his head. He closed his eyes.

He wrote a note agreeing to meet, then tied it to the owl’s leg. He paid the owl and watched it fly back into the cold morning. The clouds threatened rain; he rested against the window frame and breathed the damp air. He didn’t have work today, but he had to search for a place to live. He got dressed and went downstairs in search of the _Prophet_. Maybe he’d be able to nab a place legitimate enough to be advertised in the paper.

*

The next morning, he met Granger at a warm coffee shop in Muggle London.

“I hope you don’t mind the Muggles,” she said, sipping her steaming tea. “I thought you’d want the privacy.” They were seated at a small table in the corner; at their elbows, raindrops raced each other on the windowpane.

He smiled faintly. “You thought correctly.” He tried not to stare, but this time he was coherent enough to see the years on her face. They were definitely not children anymore. “Thank you for your help, by the way. I was pretty messed up the last time you saw me.”

She faltered. “Do you still not know who attacked you?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I just assume it was someone hired by Blackwood. It really doesn’t matter.”

“Actually, it does.” She sipped her tea, hesitating, maybe steeling herself. “We want your help, but we can’t be blindsided by anything about you.”

“You believe Blackwood then.” 

“I didn’t say that.”

“You think I extorted him. You think I threatened to kill him.”

“You were angry. He wasn’t paying you properly. It’d be understandable if you . . . snapped.”

“I didn’t _snap_ ,” he said, teeth gritted.

She shrugged. “All I’m saying is that I understand.”

 _Wonderful_ , he wanted to snarl. He wanted to be a sarcastic arsehole to her; instead he rose from the table and ordered himself a coffee.

When he returned, he saw that Granger had pulled out a Muggle notepad and pen. He sipped his coffee, and tried to make his expression blank.

“Good?” she asked, not smiling.

“Yes.” He motioned to pad. “Is this an interrogation? Hopefully you brought some Veritaserum.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I just want to take some notes. This is nothing more than a casual conversation.”

“Sure; everyone takes notes during a casual chat.”

She didn’t blink. “Can we begin? Yes? Good. What did Harry tell you about his intentions?”

“What intentions?”

She frowned. “He wants to bring a lawsuit against the Ministry.”

Draco stared. He tried to remember all his conversations with Harry, but none had been about a lawsuit. “He told me nothing. There’s to be a lawsuit?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s all his idea, well mostly. We want you to meet with Lavender Brown. Do you remember her from school?”

“Brown? Isn’t she a solicitor now?” He was stuck on her use of _we_. Did Harry still want him involved, or was Granger here because she was ignoring his wishes?

“A very good one. She wants to end the targeting of former Death Eaters.”

“Lovely,” he said, and forced a smile. “Are you sure Harry wants me involved?”

She hesitated. “No, to be honest. I want you to meet with Lavender, then we can see where this goes.”

His stomach fell. “He probably never wants to see me again.”

“Yes.” She finished her tea, then gazed hard at him. “You still aren’t involved with her, right?”

“No.”

She stood and gathered her belongings. “Stay away from her. Hopefully I don’t need to say why.”

“Things are different now.”

“Because of Harry?”

He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Just so we’re clear: You touch her again, I’ll come after you. You wreck Harry again, I’ll come after you.”

He raised his chin. “I understand.”

“Good. I’ll owl you details about this meeting with Lavender.” She left.

He watched her disappear into the rain, then stared down at his cool coffee. If he thought hard enough, he could still remember what it’d felt like when she smacked him back in third year. She could turn him into dust with a flick of her wand. He shivered.

*

Around the middle of summer, Blackwood dropped Draco’s pay. “Budget cuts,” he said, shaking his head sadly.

Draco sneaked into his office early one morning. He found Blackwood’s books and discovered the shop’s impressive profit. Draco snorted. Now that Blackwood had Lily, he was trying to push him out. 

Draco should’ve left then, but it was hard to quit a job that frequently included amazing sex. They messed around in the lab, in the supply cupboard; they lunched in the nearest park and he took her behind a tree with a few spells protecting them from view.

It all made him giddy and reckless. He remembered what it’d felt like when he first met Astoria. He’d been barely nineteen, and they’d shagged in every room of her parents’ crumbling mansion.

Scorpius noticed a change in him during their Floo calls. “You look happier,” he’d said, cocking his head. Draco was barely able to hide his grin. “Mind your own business.”

With the drop in pay, Draco struggled to afford food and liquor, but Lily began inviting him over for dinner after work. She was a decent cook, though he showed her how to properly season meats, how to dice an onion in a few seconds with her wand. She liked creamy stouts and fruity vodkas, and they’d end the night with drinks in bed.

He didn’t love her. He was obsessed with her. He had no interest in getting to know her, and she seemed to sense this. They rarely talked about things outside work, and she never brought up her family. There were no photographs of them in her flat.

“Do you not like decoration?” he asked once, half-wake, the sheets still damp from their shagging.

“What do you mean?”

“You have nothing on yours walls - no photographs.”

She shrugged. “I don’t need things on my walls. I don’t need anything.”

He kissed her breasts and caressed her wet thighs. “I like that,” he murmured. He didn’t want to touch her anymore. He didn’t want to know her. 

Work changed little by little. Blackwood disappeared for days, and Draco’s compensation dwindled to nothing. Then, on one of his days off, Draco slipped in through the back door to confront Blackwood. He barged into his office and found them together, peering at something on his desk, leaning close. 

It eased something in his chest to discover Lily with Blackwood. They weren’t doing anything inappropriate, but Draco had seen enough. 

“I want my Galleons,” Draco said, smiling, resting against the doorframe. 

“Yes, of course.” Blackwood fumbled for his account books. “I can pay you a week from tomorrow. There was an issue at Gringotts, and my health hasn’t been the best.”

“In full?”

“Of course!” 

Draco looked at Lily, then at Blackwood. He’d never see that money. 

“Great,” he said, and headed for the back door. Lily followed.

“Wait! I need to talk to you.”

He stopped in the corridor, smiling again. “Yes?”

She laughed uneasily. “I thought you were angry.”

“For what?”

“I thought it’d make you jealous to find us together. There’s nothing going on, you know.”

He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. He shook his head with fake sincerity. “Oh, Lily. I don’t have time to be jealous of you. I barely even think of you.”

He left her in the corridor, her expression aghast, her eyes full of tears. 

Blackwood could have his way with her, Draco didn’t care. He could give her all the things that Draco couldn’t because of his poverty. 

All Draco wanted was his money.

*

As it turned out, Draco kept his job at St Mungo’s. It made him suspicious. Surely Harry would seek revenge; it was only a matter of time.

He moved into a new flat; it was still in Knockturn Alley, but the rent was a little more expensive than his old place. He cast protection spells on the front door and all the windows, just in case Blackwood or Harry sent someone to rough him up.

He slowly removed his belongings from storage. He had to do it alone this time. It made him feel better to fill his small flat with a few of his family heirlooms. They brightened up the place and reassured him. They were his fall back, his insurance. He could always sell them if he was at his very last Galleon. 

In his free time, he read the newspaper like usual, his eyes glazing over whenever Harry was mentioned. He cooked small meals, scrubbing every used dish by hand afterward. Precision. Order. He would get through this if everything he did was deliberate. He avoided alcohol and pornography; he didn’t touch himself to the memory of Harry or Lily. Especially not her. When he wanked, he thought about nothing, his mind utterly blank. It took him ages to come.

He awoke to thoughts of Harry. Strange, minute details. Draco had added too much Thyme to a stew one night, and Harry’s mouth had tasted like nothing else. Harry liked sleeping in two pyjama sets, both with green shirts. Draco had liked the darker green shirt because it matched Harry’s eyes.

One morning, while he was still groggy and haunted by his dreams, his Floo flared to life with an incoming call. It was Granger.

“Sorry for the last minute notice, but Lavender can meet today, around two pm. I’ll give you the coordinates to her office if you can make it.”

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I’ll be there.”

Brown’s office was in a smart building in Muggle London. Draco grimaced as he walked from the Apparition alley, horrible Muggle contraptions on wheels rambling past him. 

Inside the building, a secretary showed him down the corridor to a small room with a lot of potted plants. Granger and Harry were already there.

Draco’s stomach clenched when he saw Harry. He took a seat as far away as he could in the small office. Harry looked tired; he was paler than usual, and it’d been a day or two since he shaved. He looked like he needed someone to wrap him up in a hug, kiss him softly. Draco imagined himself doing that very thing; he’d cook him a stew like before and spoon-feed him little savory bites. Draco closed his eyes. _Fuck._

“Lavender is running late,” Granger said. 

“Okay,” Draco said, his chest constricting. He glanced at Harry, who refused to meet his eyes.

 _Please look at me_ , he thought, then hated that he sounded so pathetic in his own head.

He couldn’t handle this; some terrible emotion wanted to overwhelm him.

He stood and went into the corridor. He needed the toilet. When he made it to one, he slammed the door closed. He slouched in front of the sink, his hands like claws on the porcelain rim. Oh, Harry.

He remembered when Harry had sliced him open in the Hogwarts bathroom. _Fitting_ , he’d thought, convulsing on the floor. Too overcome by pain and exhaustion, he wouldn’t have minded dying. Even at sixteen, he knew he’d ruined his life. 

Now, he wanted Harry to burst into the toilet and obliterate him. He was sick of the pain, the guilt. He was sick of the longing. He was desperate for a better life; he was desperate to feel like he mattered to someone. He wanted to feel like he was good enough to love. 

_Move on_ , he thought. _Get over this._

The door opened, and Harry slipped inside. Draco froze. 

They stared at each other; Harry pulled out his wand, which made Draco flinch, but he just tapped it against the door and muttered locking and silencing spells.

 _He’ll attack me, and nobody will hear_ , Draco thought. He moved toward Harry, his hands outstretched. Harry didn’t back away. His hands landed on Harry’s strong chest, then moved up to feel the delicate skin of his throat. Harry let him do it, his gaze very dark. Draco kissed him. He expected to be shoved away; when Harry parted his lips, Draco’s knees nearly gave out.

“Harry,” he whispered, and licked into his mouth. Their tongues brushed, and Draco tasted tea and smoke. Harry clutched at his back. Draco pulled back to wreath his face in warm kisses. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry turned his face away. “Don’t fucking talk.”

“Please - let me make it up to you.”

“No,” he said, but his body vibrated with need. 

Draco sank to his knees. He pushed Harry’s robes back, then slowly unbuttoned his jeans, giving him time to shove his hands away. Harry didn’t move; he watched Draco pull his jeans and pants down to his thighs. His cock was hard and already wet at the tip. 

“Tell me you want this,” Draco whispered, mimicking what Harry had said to him a month before.

“Open,” Harry said, gripping his chin. Draco opened his mouth wide and Harry pushed his cock inside. It was rough, and his jaw was already hurting. Draco tried to suck and lick, but Harry thrust too quickly, too hard for him to gain any leverage. Saliva pooled in his mouth; he felt it dripping down his chin. 

Harry grabbed his hair, pulling. “Is this what you want?”

Draco nodded. There were tears in his eyes. _Yes, please. Anything,_ he’d say if his mouth wasn’t full.

Harry angled his head back and thrust as hard as he could. He breached Draco’s throat, which burned and made him cough. Draco’s cheeks were wet; maybe he was crying.

“You bastard,” Harry said, his voice low but catching like a hiccup. “You disgusting bitch.”

Draco slid his hands up Harry’s thighs, feeling their warmth and strength. _I am, I am_ , he thought. _I fucking deserve it._

Harry jerked away. He had his cock in his hand, stroking, its head red and desperate. “God, I hate you.”

“Give it to me,” Draco said, loving this other side of Harry. 

Harry’s hand sped up. His eyes were hot, his cheeks flushed. His expression was intense, concentrated. He’d look ridiculous in any other situation. 

“I want it so fucking much.” Draco leaned in.

Harry’s mouth fell open, his eyes fluttering shut. His strokes faltered, his cock jerking in his hand. He came, and Draco leaned even closer so some of it would land on his face.

Breathing hard, Harry slumped against the wall. He stared up at the ceiling, a nerve pulsing in his jaw. He buttoned himself up and cleaned his hands with a spell.

“Harry -” Draco was still on the floor.

“This was a mistake,” Harry said. He left, and almost slammed the door behind him.

Draco didn’t move immediately. He wanted to stay on the floor forever. He wanted to disappear. 

Finally, he pulled himself up, washed his hands and face in the sink, and trudged back to the office.

Granger’s eyes widened when she saw Draco. “Ridiculous,” she muttered, and put her back to him.

“Where’s Harry?” Brown asked.

“Dunno.” He took up a chair and tried not to look too guilty. He hoped he hadn’t overlooked any come on his face.

Brown stared at him. At school, he’d thought her too childish, too _girly_ to be taken seriously. Now, he tried not to squirm. 

“There are still some who are impressed by the Malfoy name,” she said.

“Doubtful,” he said.

“If we’re going to be successful, we need to gain the public’s attention. They don’t need to be on our side initially, but we need their interest. If you’re the face of the lawsuit, then I’m betting we’ll get the housewife lot reading about us.”

“Housewives?” He snorted. 

“Older people know about the Malfoys. They followed your fall from grace,” Brown said.

“They celebrated it,” he said.

Brown nodded. “Most did, but things have changed. Take your son for example.”

“What the hell does Scorpius have to do with anything?”

“He’s quite the big shot in Spain, isn’t he? He was able to escape England, and flourish. People would understand his innocence; they would celebrate this fight to the top.”

Draco frowned. “I don’t want Scorpius involved. He deserves his privacy.”

“Like I said, you’d be the face of the lawsuit; he’d just be mentioned.”

“I still don’t understand.” His mind whirled. “Shouldn’t Potter be the face? The public loves him. He defeated the most evil wizard in history!”

“They’ll expect it,” Granger said, glancing at Brown. 

“Yes, they expect him to come to the rescue.”

“Rubbish,” he said, shaking his head. “If it’s so expected, why didn’t he do it before?”

“He fought for the rights of other groups,” Granger said. “We played an integral role in the Werewolf Rights Act.”

“That was almost twenty years ago,” Draco said.

“Yes, but it was a big thing,” Granger said. “Big enough that people still remember.” She tapped her quill on her knee. “Look, we’re not saying he won’t be involved; he just won’t be the face of it.”

“What about my arrest? Doesn’t that cause more problems that we don’t need?”

“It’s a problem, but I doubt we’re going to find a former Death Eater who has no criminal record,” Brown said. “Also, if we play our Gobstones right, the arrest will add to the drama.”

He grimaced. “Sounds like a big risk.”

“You don’t have to do it,” Granger said, “but there could be some Galleons in it for you.”

“You make me feel so cheap.”

Granger looked away. “I apologize. I just meant that your involvement could help you out financially.”

“Who’s going to pay me?”

“A wealthy benefactor who wants to remain hidden,” Brown said.

He crossed his arms. “I want to meet him before I agree to anything.” 

“How do you know it’s a man?” Granger said.

“Merlin,” he said, exasperated. “This is all a joke, isn’t it? You’re trying to nab me for something!” He stood and threw on his cloak with a flourish; he’d storm out with his dignity intact.

“Malfoy, sit down,” Brown said impatiently. “Nobody’s trying to get you into trouble. Believe me, I wouldn’t have wasted an hour of my precious time if all I had in mind was revenge.”

He perched on his chair. He raised his chin. “I still want to meet this person.”

Brown and Granger shared a look. “We’re not sure if they want to meet you,” Granger said.

“But we can ask,” Brown said.

*

A week later Draco received an owl from Brown: _She will meet you. Below are the coordinates. Does tomorrow work around lunchtime?_ Heart pounding, Draco sent his reply, accepting the time. He’d been working nights at St Mungo’s, so a lunchtime appointment was perfect for him.

He made tea in his small kitchen. The window above the sink was yellowed from age and muck, which cast everything in a horrid yellow haze. He thought about this mysterious benefactor; a _woman_. He imagined her old. A crusty nan with fur-lined robes and a witch’s hat studded with gaudy gemstones. 

But, no: that type of woman would have no interest in helping his kind, unless she’d lost a child to the Dark Lord’s charisma.

 _Don’t call him that_ , he thought. It’d been decades, and he still fumbled when thinking about . . . Lord Voldemort. He suppressed a grimace. 

What made it worse was the knowledge that Harry said his real name openly, casually, while Draco shuddered. It was proof that he wasn’t good enough; it was proof that he was fooling himself hoping Harry would ever forgive him. 

Sighing, he sat down at his spindly table to drink his tea. Some of the furniture had come with the flat, which was a good and bad thing. He was glad he didn’t have to buy a kitchen table, but the one provided was utter shit. 

He swished the tea in his mouth, trying not to think about his encounter with Harry in the toilet. It’d felt both inevitable and unbelievable; he’d thought Harry would never want to touch him again, but it was now obvious that Harry was only focused on sex. He’d welcomed Draco into his home so he could shag him. Draco had always known this but somehow things had gotten muddled.

He wanted to fuck Harry again. He was desperate for it. Sod the lawsuit; sod seeking revenge against the Ministry. He wanted Harry’s cock in his mouth again; he wanted Harry to fill him up, make him cry. He wanted Harry to absolutely _ruin_ him. 

Shagging Harry was tangible, achievable. No matter what rich nans thought, the Ministry laws would never change. Not in his lifetime. The wounds from the war were too great. Too many had lost loved ones. He was surprised the Ministry hadn’t executed every remaining Death Eater, though they’d definitely tried. _War crimes_ , the court had declared. Draco had been barely eighteen.

He finished his tea and wandered into his tiny lounge. His sofa was lumpy, its cushions dented from a multitude of arses. He laughed at the phrase: _A multitude of arses._ Merlin. He needed a hobby.

He fumbled with the morning’s newspaper. He’d spend an hour distracted by other people’s problems.

*

The next morning, he set out early. He was headed north, which made him yank on his robes and wipe invisible sweat from his forehead. Since losing the Manor, he’d avoided this part of the country; as the land opened up and London disappeared into the horizon, he choked with lost possibility. He’d been destined to rule this territory; the Malfoys had been respected across all the northern wizarding counties. Now, he returned as a _caretaker_. The disappointment stole his breath.

The day was cold and windless, a clear sky looming over him like a vast sea with no land insight. He felt upside down; he made the journey standing on his head.

He arrived outside the benefactor’s large estate with hours to spare. He wasn’t familiar with the area; he wandered to the tiny village down the road and realized it was all Muggle. 

_Even the estate?_ he wondered as he strolled outside the old shops. He enjoyed being around Muggles because they didn’t recognize him, but he could only take them in short bursts. Too much about their lives confused and frustrated him. Since his childhood, they seemed to have grown louder, more vexing. Even in this small village, adverts flashed and yelled at him, desperate for his attention. It all made his head hurt, like something squeezing at his brain. It made him yearn for his dark flat, his sweating candlesticks.

When it was time for the meeting, he headed back to the grand estate. A Muggle wearing dungarees let him through the ornate gate; his feet crunched on fine gravel along the winding path. The vegetation was quiet, its smells barely filling his nose. The trees were balding, the lichen like grey mange on their limbs.

Up ahead: a Georgian Manor. Renovated. Classic. The exterior stone was the color of white eggshells.

Brown and Granger waited for him on the front steps. His heart sank: Harry was not with them. _Stupid_ , he thought.

Brown wore a Muggle business suit; her hair was piled high on her head, her mouth a stern blush. Granger looked like her usual self but she’d attempted to comb her hair.

“Malfoy,” Brown said, nodding to him.

“Good afternoon,” he answered.

Granger smiled a little. “Shall we?”

They went inside; a demur servant tried to take their robes but Granger laughed and said they’d keep them on if you don’t mind. The servant bowed low and led them through the dark foyer into a bright drawing room.

A petite woman stood by a large fireplace. She turned, and Draco gasped: It was Pansy. She took a step closer, her eyes trained on his face.

She muttered to herself, her full lips moving. She spoke louder: “Draco.”

Draco was frozen.

“Let’s give them a moment,” Brown said. She and Granger left the room. 

Pansy crossed the plush carpet to him. Her mouth twisted. “Draco,” she repeated. There were wrinkles hugging her mouth, lining her forehead. Her nose was smaller than he remembered (maybe she’d had it magically altered), and her thick hair was now streaked with grey. 

“Pansy,” he said, and his voice caught. Merlin, he was going to cry. 

They stared some more at each other. Finally, Draco dragged his gaze away. “The portraits don’t move.”

She laughed. “I’m a Muggle now.”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“Oh, I still use magic sometimes,” she said. “Of course, Howard knows.”

He felt weightless. “Howard?” His brain was catching up, and he was so fucking hurt. He cleared his throat, and turned away, not wanting her to see the pain in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. He knew then she’d changed; schoolgirl Pansy rarely apologized.

“Don’t,” he said, forcing emotion from his voice. “We were just kids. You did what was best for you.” 

She touched his arm. “It was too painful.”

He turned, and startled. There were no tears in her eyes, but he recognized that flagging expression: She was on the verge of crying. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “Really. I’m glad you got out. I’m glad you found happiness.”

“I followed your trial in the paper. I was terribly happy when they didn’t send you to Azkaban.” 

“Yeah, me too.” He inhaled deeply. “You couldn’t have sent an owl or something? Just to let me know you were _alive_?”

She shook her head. “I needed to forget that part of my life.”

“But now I’m here.” He glanced around him, staring at all the boring Muggle objects, wanting her to see his appraisal. “After all this time, why meet with me now?”

“These laws are awful; they are criminal.” She fiddled with one of her enormous rings. “I want to change the system for the better. I’m not powerless anymore.”

“I can’t believe you married a Muggle.” He wanted to laugh.

She smiled a little. “Howard is very kind, but it’s only recently he’s allowed me to do what I wish.”

Draco frowned. He wanted to ask her so many questions about her marriage, but they were strangers now. It wouldn’t be polite.

“Shall we ask them back into the room?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, looking disappointed. She went to the door and called for Brown and Granger. 

They gathered by the fireplace; Draco sat on the edge of a beige empire sofa with lion claw feet. Antique. The cushions stiff and unyielding. Pansy was trying to impress them.

He smirked at Brown and Granger. “So, everything you said in the previous meeting was rubbish.”

“Not everything,” Brown said. She took out her notes. “Draco, how do you feel about a press conference?”

“I don’t understand.”

“We want to hold a press conference. As close to the Ministry as possible. We want you to talk about your experience with discrimination, how hard it’s been for you to be employed, how you can’t visit your successful son on the continent,” Brown said.

Draco tried not to show his shock. “You want me to tell the press how pathetic I am?”

Pansy snorted, her gaze affectionate.

“Think of it as you talking about how you’re a survivor,” Granger said. “The Ministry tried to ruin you but you persevered.”

“I did?” He blinked at them. “From where I’m standing, I’m not a survivor. There was no preserving, no success. I’m barely able to pay for a roof over my head.”

“There are others who are struggling just like you are,” Brown said, all confidence. “They need someone to take a stand. For the people who haven’t a clue, they need to hear your testimony. Will it be a little embarrassing? Sure. But think of all the _good_ you’ll accomplish.”

Draco laughed and shook his head. “You’ve forgotten I’m not a Gryffindor. The _Greater Good_ means nothing to me.”

Granger frowned hard at him. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It might be difficult to speak openly about your struggles,” Pansy said, her diamond necklace glinting in the sunlight, “but you are the perfect person to do it. I know, deep down inside, you want things to change. You’ve always been passionate about how the public viewed Slytherins; you’ve always been fiercely protective of your friends.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said, suddenly savage. “It’s been decades. I’ve grown up; I’ve changed. Don’t think for a second you understand my motivations.”

Pansy flushed and looked away. He hated her in that moment. She’d grown soft. All this luxury had turned her backbone to putty. 

“Let’s not be arseholes to each other,” Brown said. “We need to stick together if we’re to accomplish anything.”

“It’s okay,” Pansy said. “He’s right. I shouldn’t have assumed.” 

He stood and paced in front of the fireplace. The motionless portraits were upsetting him; he felt trapped, overheated. He wanted to throw off his robes, but the layers of fabric felt like his only protection.

“If this press conference has to happen, then I’ll do it only after my hearing,” he said. “The last thing I need is to rile up the Ministry.”

“Are you sure?” Brown said, tapping her Muggle pen against her thigh. “If we have the conference beforehand, then maybe it’d force the Ministry to go easy on you.”

“Doubtful.” He turned to Pansy. “I hate to be rude about this, but I was told there’d be compensation?”

“Yes,” Pansy said, unflinching. “How much will it take for you to go through with this?”

He glanced at Brown and Granger. He didn’t want to come across as greedy or a fool. “I’ll have to think about it. Can I owl you or would you prefer a telly ring?”

She smiled. “Either but I doubt any Muggle will know about telly rings.”

He tried not to roll his eyes. “Right. I’ll be off then.”

“You don’t want to stay for lunch?” Pansy said.

“No, thank you,” he said stiffly. “Perhaps some other time.”

“We’ll stay,” Brown said, glancing at Granger. “We still have things we need to discuss.”

There was a part of him that wanted to stay behind to hear this discussion, but he felt claustrophobic, overwhelmed. He wasn’t sure if his nerves could handle it right now. He needed to be home and alone with his thoughts. 

“Where is the nearest location I can Apparate?” he asked Pansy.

“Do it in the road, behind some scrubs.” She stood to walk him out.

“No, please remain seated. I don’t need an escort.” He went to the door, the back of his neck prickling. 

Outside, the day was cool and bright. He didn’t look at anything on his way back to the road. Too much wealth and opportunity. Too much beauty.

*

A few days passed. Draco went to work, then came home. He thought about Harry and Pansy in rotation. Fixated on them. At least Harry had earned his happiness, his comfort. Pansy had just shacked up with a rich Muggle.

 _Stop_ , he told himself. He’d just arrived at work; sometimes it felt like he spent more time at St Mungo’s than at home. The other caretakers were getting used to him; a few even smiled at him. The Healers continued to ignore him, but that wasn’t unusual. They ignored all the service staff. 

As he spelled his cleaning supplies into his cart, he thought about the Galleons Pansy could give him. Should he ask her for a ridiculous amount? She’d probably replace him with Nott or some other poor soul if he asked for too much. 

How much money did one expect from these things? It was a job and a sacrifice, but was it a task that was worthy of a thousand Galleons? What about ten thousand? Fifty thousand? 

He liked the sound of fifty thousand. 

He had to be careful. He couldn’t get too greedy. He had a tendency to get a big head; it was a natural impulse. If he didn’t play his Gobstones right, he might end up with nothing. 

_Would that be such a bad thing? You already have nothing. You’re used to nothing._

Right. 

Sighing, he began his rounds. He was glad he had a well-paying job, but he missed the shop. He missed brewing. He couldn’t afford renting equipment to make his own potions, so it was a talent that he couldn’t use.

It was becoming harder and harder to ignore the equipment and supplies while cleaning the lab. He began to read the recipes and other hastily written instructions. He scoffed. It was obvious these idiots only had an average understanding of brewing. They all probably got their positions because their parents knew somebody. Draco Malfoy complaining about nepotism. Sometimes the irony was too much.

It was difficult not to form a plan. He could come here on his free nights. Use the equipment. Make the changes he knew were needed. Their potions would suddenly heal better, faster, and the big shots wouldn’t have a clue how it happened. He was giddy just fantasizing about it.

He couldn’t sleep. After his long shifts, he’d lay awake and watch the light in his bedroom turn from black to grey. The nights he didn’t work were worse. He’d go to bed around ten or eleven, and he’d spend hours forcing himself not to think about Harry. He failed more times than he succeeded, and as the night wore on, his heart sped up, his cock hardened under the sheets. Thinking about Harry always made him aroused. The arousal was easier to handle than the heartache. 

He wondered what it’d be like to fuck Harry; to open him up with his mouth and fingers; to get him so wet his cock slid in almost effortlessly. Draco tossed in bed. Fuck, he shouldn’t think about these things. He should think about brewing and this press conference. He should worry about his son. 

Harry had probably moved on to someone else. He probably considered their shag in the toilet as a one-off, as something to dismiss.

Draco shook his head and focused on scrubbing the workstations by hand. He needed to forget about things like _ambition_ and _love_. He needed to stop wishing for a happy ending. 

Glancing at the shiny cauldrons, the delicately carved mortars and pestles, he decided to act on at least one of his fantasies. It was necessary. Brewing would fill his sleepless nights and curtail his lonely arousal. It was the distraction he needed.

*

The next night he sneaked back into the potions lab. He was off work and he had no business even being in St Mungo’s. His heart thumped hard, but he did his best to ignore his fear.

He lit a few candles and concentrated on minimizing noise. No one ever walked down this corridor after hours, but he wanted to guard against any surprises. For the first hour, he studied the big shots’ recipe for a blood replenishing potion called _Magis Sanguis_. He wrote down all his alterations. They were using the wrong insects; they needed to replace Titan Beetles with Emperor Scorpions, and Red Admiral Butterflies with Cinnabar Moths. They’d hit on a good discovery by using the Bloodroot Flower, but they needed the type only found in Nova Scotia.

In the corner was a small storeroom that should’ve been locked. Draco carefully searched through every ingredient the hospital owned; some of the supplies were so rare that it took his breath away to see them in person. They had the Cinnabar Moths and correct Bloodroot, which made their oversight all the more incredible. He collected what he needed and chose a workstation that was surrounded by ones in use. The room was large and meant to allow for at least fifty potions to brew at once; hopefully his creations would be hidden among the numbers. 

The rest of the night was spent carefully preparing the ingredients. The wings of the moths were delicate and easily crushed; the Bloodroot was poisonous to bare skin, so he had to wear gloves as he sliced its petals into miniscule strips. The scorpions were dried and brittle; the stinger was the most important part, but too much pressure and the knife turned it into dust.

*

By the end of the week, Draco’s _Magis Sanguis_ was bubbling softly at his workstation. In the hour right before dawn, it took everything in him to leave the potion to its fate. He fretted during the day, imagining a lone brewer recognizing that the potion had no business being there. He imagined the terse owl from Magnolia that would follow: _No need to return. We’ve decided to sack you. Your last pay cheque will be withheld to cover your brewing expenses._

As the days passed, it was both incredible and predictable that no one noticed his work. He almost relaxed, until on Friday night, he looked up from his sweeping and saw Magnolia approaching him. He steeled himself: _Here we go._

“Mr Malfoy,” she said, “may I have a word?”

“Of course.” His heart pounding, he followed her to her office, broom still in hand.

“Please have a seat,” she said, and closed her office door.

 _Don’t admit to anything_ , he thought.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked.

He blinked at her. “Sure.”

She Summoned her kettle. She flipped open the lid and frowned at its contents. “Better yet, why don’t we go down to the canteen? I think they are just finishing up supper.”

“No, it’s all right.” He straightened his back. “Please just tell me what this is all about.”

For some reason, she seemed a little uncomfortable. He frowned. Hesitating like that, she looked like a damn child.

“We need extra help for the Magical Myopathy benefit,” she said.

It took a moment for him to understand. “The one where Harry will give a speech?”

“Hopefully,” she said.

“What’s Magical Myopathy?” He struggled saying the second word.

“It’s a disease that breaks down both muscle and magical ability.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Yes.” She unfurled a scroll and examined a list of names at the bottom. “Do you have any experience as a waiter?

“Uh, not exactly.”

“More people than I anticipated RSVP’ed and we’re desperate for waiters. It’s on one of your days off. Do you think you could do it?”

“I doubt people want _Draco Malfoy_ pouring their wine.”

She frowned at him. He knew what she was thinking: _You’re not important enough to be recognized._ “I doubt it’ll be a problem.”

“Yes, I will do it.” He always needed extra money, and Harry was going to be there. 

_No, don’t think about him. Not here._

“Great!” She handed him a piece of parchment. “Owl that person. She’s our event director. She’ll give you all the details you need.”

“Thanks,” he said, standing. “Anything else?”

She stood as well. “No, I appreciate you helping out.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

When he made it back to the corridor, he slumped against a wall, sighing heavily. He pushed some hair from his face, and realized his hand trembled. Merlin. He was really getting away with it. The knobs were too stupid to catch him openly brewing!

He laughed and shook his head. Footsteps echoed from the other end of the corridor. He hastily straightened. Granger worked somewhere at St Mungo’s, and it’d be just his luck for her to stumble on him cackling to himself like a lunatic.

*

The next day, Pansy invited Draco to lunch and he accepted. They met at a Muggle restaurant near her estate. It was too cold to eat outside, but they were seated next to an enormous window that gave them a pretty view of the countryside.

Pansy was dressed in a fur-lined blazer and skin-tight trousers. Her makeup highlighted the lines on her face.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” she said, slightly breathless.

He shrugged. His eyes widened when he glanced through the menu. He didn’t have enough money to afford even a starter. 

“Don’t worry. This is my treat.”

“Ah.” 

When the waiter asked what they wanted to drink, Draco requested a glass of water but Pansy said, “Two Buck’s Fizzes. The best champagne you’ve got.”

“Very good, madam,” the waiter said. 

It was difficult meeting her eyes. “You make me feel so pathetic,” Draco said, surprised by his brash honesty.

“I haven’t a clue why. You’re the better person by a long shot.”

He snorted. “I’m the bigger fool, you mean.”

“I don’t think you’re a fool. I think you’re brave!”

“Why do you sound like this now?” He sighed. “It’s like you’ve forgotten what it means to be a Slytherin.”

“Maybe I have,” she said softly.

Their drinks came then; the waiter smiled and said, “So! What can I get you?”

“Whatever she’s having.” Draco gulped his orange juice and champagne. The bubbles were delightful on his tongue.

“I want to set up a payment schedule,” Pansy said, once the waiter was gone.

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I won’t take anything under twenty thousand.”

“Good.” She touched his hand. “I want to be someone you can rely on.”

“Do you really feel that guilty?”

“Yes.”

He took his hand away. “I’m in love with Potter, but I - I did something very stupid.”

Merlin, it felt good to admit it out loud.

She didn’t react. “I assumed there was something going on between you. Brown and Granger like to whisper about it.”

“What do they say?”

“No idea. I can’t really follow.” She sipped her drink and eyed him. “Did you sell him to the press?”

“No, worse. I shagged his daughter.”

She stared at him. “When did this happen?”

“During the summer. It was before I got involved with Harry - Potter, I mean. I wouldn’t have shagged her if I knew I could have him.”

“This poor child.” Her gaze grew distant. “Howard and I desperately wanted children. Turns out I’m infertile.” 

“Why didn’t you use magic?”

“I couldn’t - Howard doesn’t like magic all that much. He’s afraid of it.”

“But he knows you’re a witch?”

“Yes, and he’s okay with it if I don’t cast spells around him.”

“You should’ve done it behind his back.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to risk our marriage. I love him too much.”

“You mean you love his money too much.”

She looked hurt. “Have you spoken to Potter’s daughter? Does she know?”

“She came over when I was at his place, so yeah, she knows.” He fumbled with his napkin. “I wrote her a pathetic letter, groveling, begging forgiveness. I understand what I did was beastly.”

“Do you think she still has feelings for you?”

He flinched. “She despises me.”

“I would despise you, too.” Pansy smiled kindly at him. “I’m surprised Potter still wants anything to do with you.”

“We’re still shagging.”

She snorted. “Of course.”

Their meals arrived. Salmon in a refreshing lemon cream sauce. He did his best not to gobble it up in two bites.

“Did you stay in touch with anyone? Greg? Millie?” she asked.

“Greg’s dead.”

“Oh.” She pushed around her fish, not meeting his eyes. “Did he - was it self-inflicted?”

“I’m pretty sure he drank himself to death, but we didn’t talk much after the war. Mille is a happier case. I think she’s in Bulgaria raising sheep.” He laughed a little. “It helped that she never took the Mark.”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t have survived the war without you.”

“I know.”

“I want you to know that I value what you did for me. You were there for me when no one else was.”

“I had to be. We had to stick together.”

“The truth is that I’ve missed you.” 

He frowned. “I missed you after the war. I imagined you best mates with Astoria.”

“I wish I could’ve been there for Scorpius’ birth.”

“That would’ve been nice.”

“I heard she was ill for years.”

“She was,” Draco said, not really wanting to talk about it.

“Was it hard for you? Did you love her?”

“Of course I loved her.”

“More than Potter?”

He paused. “I - don’t know. Potter fills me in ways that she never did.”

“Literally, or -”

“No!” He almost blushed. They shared a laugh, and it eased something between them. He smiled at her. “I think I suppressed how much of a hole you left in my life. I’ve been terribly lonely.”

She flapped her hand. “Oh, shush. You were cracking on. You didn’t need me.”

He raised his chin. “I didn’t need anyone.”

“Except for Potter and all the ways he _fills_ you.”

“Stop.”

Pansy paused, and smiled mischievously.

“So, what’s Potter like in bed?”

“Which one?” He smirked.

She threw her napkin at him, laughing. “You evil brute!”

When their meal was finished, she took his hand. “Let’s make this a regular thing. I’ll put it on schedule.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

*

The benefit was held in St Mungo’s ballroom. The robes they put him in were magically tailored to fit him perfectly; even though he poured wine and served fish, he still felt quite smart.

The ballroom was tastefully decorated in black and white velvet; the candles flicked white and gold on the delicate tablecloths. An orchestra played softly in the corner; Draco hummed along as he tended to the guests. 

An hour or so into the event, Harry showed up with his Quidditch-star son. Draco almost spilled the wine he was pouring when he spotted them across the room.

James Potter looked like Harry around the mouth and shoulders; the rest of him was Weasley. Freckles dotted his face and arms; his hair was brown. Harry wore fancy robes and a nervous frown; glancing around, his eyes flashed when they landed on Draco. They stared at one another until Harry looked away. It took Draco a moment to remember how to breathe. 

“Pardon me,” said an elderly witch, “can you get me a goblet of water?”

“Of course,” Draco said, then quickly left to fetch the water.

When he returned, he overheard a conversation that made him pause. 

“Yes, the improvements are quite remarkable.”

“But no one can figure out how those particular vials turned out to be so successful?”

“Everyone has their theories. Personally, I think it’s Gibbons vying for a promotion. Or he wants to sell this new brew overseas.” 

“D’you really think a blood replenishing potion could make someone rich?”

“Maybe not rich but there’s hospitals out there that’d pay loads of Galleons for a potion this good. Patients are healing faster because of it.”

Draco continued his duties, not really knowing how to process the new information. Somebody must’ve bottled his potion without him knowing, which was a shame, because it needed a few more days on the flame to reach its full strength.

For the rest of the event, Draco put the potion out of his mind. It was impossible to do the same for Harry. 

He glanced at Harry while he refreshed drinks and delivered hot bread; while the guests ate their main courses, he stood along the wall and watched Harry push his food around his plate and chat with James and Magnolia. His hair was as crazy as ever, but he looked tired. His fresh shave only marginally distracted from the shadows under his eyes.

 _Did I do that?_ Draco wondered, his chest tightening. Harry looked past James to Draco, and once again they stared at each other. Harry’s gaze glittered, but Draco couldn’t read his expression. Maybe Harry was aroused. Maybe he was ready for a duel.

Draco raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the corridor. He sauntered to the door, hoping Harry got the message. He wouldn’t be missed for a few minutes.

His stomach lurched when he noticed Harry following him. He ducked into a single-occupant toilet, and waited for Harry to slip in behind him.

Harry came in and shut the door. He looked angry with himself, maybe a little guilty. 

“Who paid for those robes?” Harry asked.

“St Mungo’s. Do you like them?” Draco turned slowly around, projecting all the confidence he could muster. When he stopped, Harry was gazing at him like he had murder on his mind.

“I only have a couple of minutes,” Draco said, staring, “but it won’t take long for you to fuck my mouth.”

Harry forced him against the wall. He wrapped his hand around Draco’s throat and squeezed. “I let you into my home. I bent over backwards to help you and you never had the decency to tell me.”

Draco didn’t struggle; he just stood there, pinned to the wall, gasping for breath.

Leaning closer, Harry said, “When I think about you with her, I want to kill you.”

“Do it,” Draco whispered.

Something like disbelief flickered across Harry’s face. He turned Draco around and made quick work of Draco’s robes and trousers; he shoved Draco’s pants down to his knees. 

“Spread your legs,” Harry said.

Heart pounding, Draco did what he was told. He buried his face in his arm; his arse was on display.

Harry parted his cheeks to stare at his hole. He muttered a list of latin, and Draco’s mouth fell open as cleaning and protection spells tore through him. Harry spit on his hole; Draco closed his eyes, embarrassed.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Harry said, his breath coming fast. He whirled the moisture around with his fingertip; he pressed into Draco.

Draco blew out air and tried to relax. Fuck, it burned. The spit did nothing to ease the penetration, and it was like Harry was fingering him dry. 

“Does it hurt?” Harry said, wiggling his finger.

“Merlin, yes,” he answered, panting, clawing at the wall.

“Good.” Harry tried to add a second finger, but Draco was too tight. Draco thrashed and cried out.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Draco said.

Harry kissed his back. “You’d let me do it, wouldn’t you? I could force my finger into you, my cock. I could make you bleed, and you wouldn’t stop me.”

“Yes,” Draco said, twisting. “It’s what I deserve.”

“God, I hate you.” Harry pulled him from the wall and manhandled him to the floor. He pressed on his back until Draco was arched, his arse in the air again. Draco rested his cheek on the cool tile and tried to ignore the ache in his knees. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Harry said.

Draco’s eyes widened; he wanted it but he was frightened. He whispered, “Please.”

Harry’s hands shook as he forced his thighs wide. He muttered a lube spell, thank Merlin, but he pressed in without any prep. Draco cried out.

“Shit,” Harry said, and fumbled for his wand, his cock barely past Draco’s ring of muscle. Draco rocked back and forth, trying to ease some of the searing pain. He hadn’t fingered himself in a while, and his arse was so, so tight. 

Harry cast a strong silencing spell. He grabbed Draco’s hips and thrust hard. Draco opened his mouth to the tile, trying to breathe, trying to calm himself. Harry was splitting him open; he’d rip him to shreds. 

“It’s okay,” Harry said, caressing his back. His voice was strained. “I know you can take me.” Harry continued to move, not as hard as his first thrust, but not carefully either. He pushed and pushed until Draco began to open up to him.

“Harry.” Draco couldn’t stop crying. Snot slipped saltily into his mouth. He wished he had something to hold onto. His knees were killing him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Harry said, caressing him again. His words were muttered softly, like a secret. 

“It’s not.” He pressed back, and gasped when Harry slid further in him. 

Harry picked up his pace, moaning. “Touch yourself.”

Draco was flaccid. He didn’t want to touch himself. This was all for Harry, nothing for him. 

Leaning forward, Harry tried stroking his cock, but Draco forced his hand away. “No. I don’t want it.”

“Fuck, Draco.” His pounding staggered; he was moaning loudly, uncontrollably. “I want to fucking forget you,” he said, and came.

Gritting his teeth, Draco took his erratic thrusts. He finished hard, and Draco actually felt something tear inside him.

Harry pulled out carefully. “Oh,” he said, sounding alarmed. “Don’t move.”

“What’s wrong?” Draco couldn’t really focus; he was in pain, but his mind was a hot flash.

“Just let me.” Harry dragged his wand over his arse, muttering spells. Draco smelled the mint of a cleaning spell, then felt the sting of a healing spell.

“I’m hurt inside,” he whispered.

“I know.” Harry tapped his wand up Draco’s spine. “Turn over for me.” When Draco did so, he rotated his wand over Draco’s lower stomach. His expression was relaxed. “Does that feel better?”

Draco nodded. His eyes filled with tears again, but he was too wrecked to hide them. Harry saw he was crying and looked away.

“Put your clothes back on,” Harry said, standing. His cock looked well-used, and some lube smeared his pelvis.

When they were both cleaned up and dressed, Draco asked, “Can I see you again?”

Harry looked exhausted, and this made the grey stand out in his hair. “No.” He left.

Draco hit his face with some anti-crying charms, which dried his eyes and removed their redness. He took a deep breath and hobbled back to work. He’d have to be very careful not to sit down for the rest of the night.

Later, after he guzzled a few pain relievers, he sneaked up to the empty potions lab and got to work on making more _Magis Sanguis_. As he worked, he imagined all the things he’d buy with a million Galleons.

*

It took him a week to fully heal. He held the pain close and used it as a shield. When it was gone, he missed it like an old friend.

He wished Harry would understand that his pain was a gift. He’d submit to him until he was forgiven. He’d apologize until there was no breath in him. 

Many times he struggled not to contact Harry. All he wanted was a conversation.

*

Draco’s hearing arrived on a chilly morning in November. Winter approached, and the water-slicked streets outside his flat threatened to freeze. He put on the best robes he owned, which only had minimal tears, and spent a good ten minutes in front of his clouded mirror. He shaved as closely as possible, then cast styling charms on his hair. He didn’t know what to expect today, but at least he’d look presentable when it happened. He’d looked like utter rubbish during his last trial. What was the point of bathing when you didn’t care if you lived or died?

It took some effort to travel to the Ministry; he still remembered the icy cell and its impenetrable stone. _This might be the last time I’m a free man,_ he thought. Taking a deep breath, he spun and Apparated. 

He appeared in the main lobby. Floos roared to life on either side of him; he put his head down and made his way to the security checkpoint. 

The guard recognized him. “Hand over you wand, then empty your pockets,” he ordered gruffly.

Expressionless, Draco did what he was told. The guard inspected his wand closely and muttered anti-curse spells; he seemed disappointed when it came up clear.

“Turn around,” the guard said. Draco turned around and lifted his arms, already knowing the next step.

The guard patted his sides, and snorted. “Not so high and mighty now, eh? I’ve seen a vagabond wear better.”

Draco closed his eyes. He wanted to punch the man.

“He’s good,” the guard said to his partner. Draco dropped his arms and took his wand back. He didn’t dare look into the guard’s face; he didn’t know if he could control himself.

He made for the lifts, his head still down. He imagined looking up and seeing Harry, but he didn’t dare hope for it. 

The lift was crowded and smelled slightly musty; a few of the other occupants scooted away from him when they realized he was headed for the Wizengamot.

At the tenth level, he stepped from the lift and strode down a dark corridor. _The intimidation begins_ , he thought grimly. On the other side of a heavy door was a small waiting room. He stopped. Harry, Granger, and Brown were already there. Brown waved him over.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Okay.” He stared at Harry, who glanced at him, his expression pained.

Brown spoke urgently to him: “Just so you’re prepared, I don’t have a good feeling about this. I think the Ministry knows about our plans for a lawsuit. They might decide to make an example of you.”

He tried not to react. “Are you sure?”

“This hearing was meant to be just step one in the legal process, but I’ve heard murmurs they’re sitting the whole Wizengamot for you.”

“Fuck,” Draco said, his stomach lurching. No, he needed to control himself. No turning coward.

“It’s too early to panic,” Harry said. “Whatever the Ministry decides, we can fight it.”

“You’re not the one who’ll be thrown into a cell,” Draco said feverently. 

“I’m also not the one who picked a fight with my elderly employer,” Harry said.

“Not the time to bicker,” Granger said. “We need to keep cool heads.”

Draco took a seat and clutched his knees; he wanted to squirm.

Granger sat down next to him. She touched his shoulder gently. “If you are taken into custody, Parkinson’s already reassured us that she will bail you out.”

Draco nodded. He tried to speak but nothing came out. 

“You’ve already faced the whole Wizengamot at eighteen,” she said. “If you could do it then, you can do it now.”

“Yeah, I had to face them at just fifteen,” Harry said darkly.

“Dumbledore saved your arse then,” Draco said. “This is _not_ the same.”

Harry glared at him. 

Brown tapped on her chin, smirking. “Yeah, but with Parkinson’s loose purse strings, it’s almost like we got a Dumbledore,” she said.

“Parkinson is nothing like Dumbledore,” Harry said.

The other door opened and a clerk poked his head in: “Draco Malfoy vs. The Ministry of Magic, witness Bractus Blackwood.” 

Draco stood. He peered around for Blackwood, but didn’t see him. Granger squeezed his arm. “Harry and I will be in the audience,” she said.

Nodding, Draco didn’t dare look at Harry. He and Brown followed the clerk through the door; the proceeding corridor was stone from floor to ceiling. _Cozy_ , Draco thought.

They paused outside another small door. Draco could hear a mummering crowd on the other side. Brown tapped her wand to her shoulder, and her ordinary business suit transformed into stern black robes with a ridiculous puffy cap on her head.

“Chin up,” she said, then nodded to the clerk. 

They went through the door. Draco’s stomach plunged; there were at least a hundred people in the audience, and most of them fell silent when he entered. 

The courtroom was a repurposed dungeon. A wet chill hung in the air, and the stone walls were a sickly green in the gloom. There were no windows, and no one had made an attempt to mimic fresh light. 

Draco’s gaze fell to the lone chair in the middle, its shackles gleaming menacingly. He remembered the chafe of them on his wrists and ankles.

Luckily, the guards seemed uninterested in him for now. He imagined being forced into that chair, and shivered.

“Steady now,” Brown said, touching his side. They went to the defendant’s table. “Sit down. Leave your hands out of your pockets.”

“Okay,” Draco said, his tongue numb.

The Wizengamot were already seated; fifty grim faces like porridge, their regal plum robes catching the minimal firelight. _Dickheads_ , Draco thought, staring at their stupid purple hats.

“Stop glaring,” Brown muttered. “You don’t want them thinking you’re hostile.”

To distract himself, Draco searched for Harry. It took a moment to spot him; he tried to catch Harry’s eye, but Harry stared determinedly past him at the court. 

“Arsehole,” coughed someone at the table next to them. A young man leered at Draco, which made him blink. He knew that face. He blinked again, and realized he was staring at Blackwood and his oldest son. 

Blackwood slumped down in his chair, looking about two hundred years old. He’d worn robes that were a bit frayed, and his wizard’s hat drooped sadly to the side. His son, on the other hand, probably had to dip his head under every doorway he entered. 

So much had happened since his altercation with Blackwood. Draco hadn’t thought much about who’d attacked him; he’d just assumed Blackwood was involved somehow.

But, standing this close to them, Draco knew the attacker was Blackwood’s son. He remembered the shape of him in the darkened alley, and felt the strength of those meaty fists punching his gut, his face. It made Draco almost feel sorry for the kid; he knew what it was like to be blinded by parental devotion.

Archy Awilles, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, called the court to order. He was an older man with a weak chin and bird-like eyes. 

“Will the first witness step forward,” Awilles said.

Blackwood hobbled to the center of the room. He testified in a voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t hear him!” someone whispered behind Draco.

Draco didn’t strain to hear. He knew what kind of rubbish Blackwood was feeding the court. Draco had never extorted Blackwood; he’d only _threatened_ to do it. 

Sometimes he wished he was as crazy as his evil Aunt Bellatrix. He wanted to jump from his chair and scream, “He’s the thief! He’s the cheat!” He wanted to take Blackwood by his collar, jostling him, yelling, “Where’s my money?” The thought almost made him smile. He quickly smoothed his face. 

“Then, when I finally had the courage to deny Mr Malfoy, he stalked me and my family! He waited outside my home. He attacked me!” Blackwood’s cheeks were pink. 

Awilles leaned forward. “Yes, but how do you account for Mr Malfoy’s wounds. For example, why did you deem it necessary to choke him?”

Blackwood opened and closed his mouth. He glanced back at his solicitor, who nodded reassuringly. “I’m not entirely sure,” Blackwood said. “I was being attacked, sir. I had lost control of my senses.”

“Why didn’t you contact the Aurors when Mr Malfoy first approached you about employment?” asked another Wizengamot member.

“Because he said he’d kill me if I told anyone!” Blackwood insisted.

“All this sounds like a lot of work for an entry-level job,” said the same member. “You say that he actually did the job? Swept your floor, brewed your potions? Why even do that if you’re already extorting the shop owner?”

“Maybe he was bored,” Blackwood said.

“Yes,” said Awilles. “Mr Malfoy is an ex-Death Eater. He carries the Dark Mark on his arm to this day. We cannot expect him to think like you or me.”

Some members of the Wizengamot looked skeptical while others nodded in agreement. Draco gritted his teeth.

“Anything else you would like to add, Mr Blackwood?” Awilles said.

“Nothing, sir.”

“You may sit back down.” Awilles looked at Draco. “Mr Malfoy, please step forward.” 

Draco did so, his knees weak. 

Awilles continued: “I hope we don’t need to bring out the Veritaserum.”

“I promise to speak only the truth,” Draco said quietly. Of course, they hadn’t threatened poor old Blackwood with truth serum.

“Good,” Awilles said. “Please explain yourself.”

Draco gulped; his dry tongue stuck to his gums. “The truth is that I approached Mr Blackwood because I knew he’d employ me illegally.”

“Why did you think that?” Awilles interrupted.

Draco was hesitating, calculating. The court was obviously on Blackwood’s side, so how helpful would it really be to tell the real story about him? But he couldn’t come across as lying and fumbling, either.

“Mr Blackwood has a reputation for not playing by the rules,” he said. Awilles looked unconvinced, so Draco added, “People unfamiliar with Knockturn Alley think Mr Blackwood is a sweet and trustworthy shop owner, but residents of Knockturn Alley know better.”

“Do you have a witness to corroborate this?” Awilles said.

“No one from Knockturn will ever willingly stand before the Ministry. They’d think it too foolish.” Lily flashed in his mind, but he dismissed it. He’d rather rot in prison.

Awilles squinted. “Because they are associated with criminals and murderers. Do you have anymore to add?”

Draco held his hands in front of him. Anything he’d say would be twisted by Awilles. “I never extorted Mr Blackwood. I worked for him for many months, and for most of it, we were friendly. It was only after he stopped paying me that things turned sour. The fight that happened between us was equal.” 

“Thank you, Mr Malfoy.” Awilles looked to the guards. “Put the defendant in the chair.” 

“But, sir, this was meant to be a preliminary hearing,” Brown said. “The chair is for sentencing purposes only.”

“He’s a criminal with a violent background. The chair is necessary.” Awilles motioned to the guards. 

Draco didn’t fight the guards. They locked him in the horrible chair, the restraints biting into his wrists and ankles. He knew then he was about to be sentenced to Azkaban. The only question was for how long. 

His mind whirled. Awilles was speaking, but blood rushed in his ears. He’d never see Scorpius again. No way would he expose his son to the prison in all its moldy horror. He’d experienced that with his own father, and it’d nearly killed him. 

Awilles turned to the rest of the Wizengamot. “Who believes Draco Lucius Malfoy innocent of the extortion and assault of Bractus Beaumont Blackwood?”

Twenty hands went in the air. Draco breathed heavily. 

“Who believes Draco Lucius Malfoy guilty of the extortion and assault of Bractus Beaumont Blackwood?”

Thirty hands went in the air.

“The Wizengamot finds Draco Lucius Malfoy guilty,” Awilles said, his voice high. “Extortion and assault earns the defendant at least ten years in Azkaban; therefore, I recommend Mr Malfoy to be sentenced to ten years in prison. Does the court agree?”

The remaining forty-nine members raised their hands.

Awilles continued: “The court agrees. I hereby sentence Draco Lucius Malfoy to ten years in Azkaban.” He waved his wand over his head, then slammed it down on the table.

Draco was numb. The guards hauled him from the dungeon. 

“I’ll come see you after processing!” Brown said. “This isn’t over!”

*

“We meet again,” Draco murmured, pacing his cell. He wanted to pound his fists into the wall and scream as loud as he could.

He was just so _angry_. Fuck the Ministry and his parents; fuck Harry, Granger, and Brown. Fuck Pansy for abandoning him. 

He remembered Awilles and his wobbly neck. He wanted his wand back. He’d storm through the Ministry until he found that prat; then he’d rip his sodding throat out. 

Ten years in Azkaban. He couldn’t fathom it.

Draco laid down on the hard little bed. It was true that he assaulted Blackwood; the man had cheated him out of money and time; he’d introduced Lily to him. But Draco didn’t think beating up an old crook merited _years_ in prison. He trembled. He remembered Azkaban; he knew its dank cells and wormy food.

He thought about the twenty court members who voted for his release. Cowards! None of them spoke up in his defense! No one cared enough to argue with Awilles, even though Draco’s freedom depended on it. They didn’t care about anyone or anything other than themselves.

Nobody came for the rest of the day. In the morning, the guards let him bathe, then fed him some tasteless porridge. Even in the shower, he had to wear glowing shackles around his ankles.

After breakfast, they led him into a small visiting room. Brown waited for him at the table.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier,” she said hurriedly. “Did they feed you?”

“Yes,” he said, and sat down at the sad wooden table. 

“Parkinson has been trying to post your bail, but there’s been some problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“For one, I’ve called the press. They are waiting outside for you.”

Draco closed his eyes. “You’re only making it worse.”

“No, trust me.” She paused. “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

“Not really. I thought you’d just tell me.”

She frowned. “Think about what you’ll say. Hopefully, you won’t be here for another day or so.”

“Okay,” he said, numb. He didn’t believe for a second the Ministry would let him out. 

“Stay strong,” she whispered.

The guards came over to retrieve him. Draco followed them out like a good boy. He put him back in his cell, but he only had a few minutes to pity himself before they returned. 

“You’re being released,” one of the guards said.

They led him to the processing room. Brown, Granger, and Harry waited for him.

“What happened?” he asked, disbelieving. 

“Harry happened,” Granger said, smiling widely.

Harry looked embarrassed. “Let’s not talk about it.”

After Draco signed a stack of forms and changed back into his robes, they left the jail and took the lift up to the Ministry lobby.

“Ready?” Brown said.

“No,” Draco answered.

They left the building; up ahead was a haggle of reporters.

“Look, it’s Harry Potter!” one of them yelled.

The reporters rushed forward to surround him; Draco was elbowed out of the way by a photographer. 

Harry’s eyes glimmered like something under water. “I’m here today to talk about injustice caused by decades of cruel laws. The Ministry has targeted a very specific group of people for too long. It is time for our community to move on. If I can forgive former Death Eaters, then you can, too.”

“You’ve taken a leave of absence from the Ministry, is that correct?” one reporter asked.

“Yes,” Harry said, cautious.

“And you came to the Ministry to witness the trial of Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater?”

“Yes, and the trial was incredibly unfair.”

“Please explain,” said the reporter. Harry looked to Brown.

“My client, Mr Malfoy, was given no warning that he’d be sentenced today,” Brown said in a loud voice. “The Wizengamot rushed through his trial to make an example of him. The Ministry wanted to punish him for his impending lawsuit.”

“Lawsuit?” a few reporters yelled.

“I plan to file the paperwork today,” Brown said. “Draco Malfoy is officially suing the British Ministry of Magic for its discriminatory laws that target former followers of Tom Riddle.”

There was an eruption of murmurs. Somebody yanked him from the group. 

“Look here,” said a photographer and snapped his picture. Draco saw spots. 

“This way, Mr Malfoy!”

“A quote, Mr Malfoy!”

Countless clicking of cameras. A lightning storm on his face. The flashing blinded him.

Another person grabbed his hand. “Let’s get out of here.” It was Harry.

“But - my statement,” he said weakly.

“It can wait. You should give Luna exclusive access.”

Harry guided him from the crowd. They stopped in a small alley. 

“Come home with me?” Harry asked.

“Merlin, yes.” Draco wrapped his arms around him. They spun and Disapparated. 

They appeared in the lounge. Harry tried to step away but Draco held on.

“Kiss me,” Draco said desperately. The trial and jail cell, the impromptu press conference - all of it had made him feel mad, off kilter. He needed Harry to anchor him. 

“No,” Harry said, and turned his face away.

Draco kissed his cheek, his bristled chin. He sucked on his throat hard, wanting to leave his mark.

“Why did you bring me here?” Draco asked.

“Are you hungry?”

“Maybe.”

Harry hesitated. “Will you cook for me again?”

“Only if you let me suck your cock.” Draco cupped him through his trousers.

“We’ll see.”

They went down to the kitchen. Everything was like he remembered: stone flooring, low ceiling, that ancient cruddy table. He opened the cupboard and clicked his tongue. “You haven’t been to the shop.”

“I’ve been busy.” Harry leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. He gazed at Draco almost shyly.

Draco went to fridge and fished out some veg. “Busy shagging men in toilets?”

“And other places.”

“In kitchens?” Draco dropped to his knees. 

“Get up,” Harry said, frowning. 

“But my mouth wants to be filled.”

“Christ.” Harry rubbed hard at his face. “It’s so bloody hard to say no to you.”

“Please, Harry,” Draco said, unbuttoning his robes. “I want you to humiliate me.”

Harry stared. He gulped. “I thought it was pain you liked.”

“That’s fun, too.” Draco got his robes off and started on his shirt.

Harry raised him to his feet. He handed Draco a knife.

He glanced down at it. “This is a surprise.”

“I told you I wanted you to cook for me.” Harry Summoned peppers and potatoes. “Prepare them.”

As Draco focused on cutting off the stems from the peppers, Harry undid Draco’s trousers and pulled them to his ankles. He did the same for his pants.

“Merlin,” Draco said, breathless.

Harry laughed. “Just you wait.” He dropped to his knees and parted his cheeks. He licked at his hole.

Draco gasped. “I’m not clean -”

“I don’t care.” Harry whirled his tongue. “Be careful with that knife.”

Draco squirmed. His hands shook; it was hard to aim properly with Harry’s mouth on him.

“You’re so pink everywhere,” Harry said, all gravel.

“Stick your tongue in me.”

“What about my fingers?”

“Merlin,” Draco said. He was making such a mess of the veg.

A finger joined Harry’s tongue, and together they thrust and massaged. “Keep going,” Harry said when his mouth wasn’t full.

Draco slowly peeled a potato, then another one. Harry moaned and wiggled his tongue. Draco cried out, nearly dropping his knife.

“Harry,” he groaned, his head thrown back. His cock dribbled on the drawer in front of him.

“Again.”

“Harry.” Draco blabbered. “I need your prick.”

“Right now? In the kitchen?”

Draco dropped the knife and turned around. He pulled Harry to his feet. “Take me to bed.”

Harry Apparated them to his bedroom. Draco removed Harry’s clothes, then guided him onto his back.

“Let me do all the work,” Draco whispered. He wanted to make Harry feel so good; he owed it to him. 

Harry nodded, his eyes burning. Draco Conjured up just a little lube. He smeared it on Harry’s cock, his thumb swiping over the head. Harry jerked in his hand.

Draco crouched over him and pressed his cock to his hole.

Harry grabbed him. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Draco had to close his eyes briefly. It did something to him to hear Harry worry about him. He had taken the Dark Mark and smashed Harry’s face in; he’d shagged his only daughter and didn’t even have the nerve to tell him. 

Draco smacked his hands away. “I don’t care.” Breathing deeply to relax himself, he worked the tip of Harry’s prick inside him. 

“Ah,” Harry said, his head falling back.

Draco gritted his teeth, his thighs shaking. He sank further.

“God.” Harry twisted, his face flushed. “I need to move.”

“Do it. Rip me open.”

“Baby,” Harry whispered, his nails digging into Draco’s thighs. He thrust shallowly, gently. “You’ll take all of me, won’t you?”

“Yes!” Draco wanted Harry to call him _baby_ again.

Harry pulled him down, wrapping his arms around him. He muttered in his ear as he thrust harder: “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Can’t stop thinking about you.”

Draco cried into his shoulder. He couldn’t speak. His arse throbbed, the pain a reward, the damage something to think about _after_.

“God -I need -” Harry muttered a spell and suddenly Draco’s arse dripped with lube. Harry eased out and flipped them over. He entered Draco again easily. Draco arched his back, his mouth open.

Harry spread Draco’s thighs and pounded into him. Draco felt stretched, trapped. The world fell away, and Draco existed only to be used, spoiled. He was absolutely nothing. 

Harry scratched down his chest.

Draco thrashed. “I want to feel your come inside me.”

Moaning, Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck. He thrusts sped up, Draco’s prick rubbing between their stomachs. 

“You fucked her,” Harry whispered, then came loudly, brutally. Draco could do nothing but hold on. 

When Harry calmed down, he pulled out and left the room. Draco was too dazed to focus his eyes. Minutes passed. He waited, his erection wilting, his arse throbbing like a drum deep inside him. 

Finally Harry returned. He carried a small jar with him. “A magical ointment,” he said. “Turn over for me.”

Draco did as he was told. Harry sucked in a breath.

“Your poor arse.” Harry caressed his sticky cheeks. “Can I put this on you?”

“What brand?” Draco’s voice was muffled by the pillow.

“Err - _Edlenor’s Elixirs_?”

“That’ll do.”

“Spread yourself for me,” Harry said quietly. Draco complied, and Harry gently smeared his hole with the ointment. It stung, causing Draco to hiss. “Is it making it worse?”

“No,” he stuttered. After a moment or two, the throbbing began to melt away. Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I want to suck you off,” Harry said.

Draco rolled onto his side. His erection was pretty much gone. “You don’t have to.”

Harry’s expression was inscrutable. “Do you not want it?”

“I want to make you happy.”

“Will it make _you_ happy?”

“Obviously, but -”

“Then I’ll suck you off.” Harry slid in between his thighs.

Draco grabbed his shoulder. “I don’t - I know -”

“What?” Harry ran a finger over his soft cock.

“Merlin -I -”

Harry tongued his cockhead. “Come on. Spit it out.”

“Why are you still interested in me?”

Harry didn’t stop. “What d’you mean?”

“I did - _Merlin_ \- horrible things.”

“Yes.”

“But - you should want nothing to do with me.”

Sighing, Harry said, “Will you shut up and just let me make you come?” He pumped Draco until he was fully hard, then swallowed down his cock.

“Harry,” Draco whined, his eyes rolling. Harry moaned and bobbed his head. He played with Draco’s bollocks. “Oh - fuck.”

Harry moaned louder and quickened his bobbing. His tongue felt wonderful; Draco’s bollocks grew tight, almost painful. His orgasm came on suddenly; he threw his head back and flooded Harry’s mouth, his thrusts erratic, his thighs trembling. 

When it was all over, Draco felt strangely cold and empty. He stared up at the ceiling.

Kissing his stomach, then his neck, Harry murmured: “Stay with me?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, but do you want to?”

Draco looked at him; again, he couldn’t read Harry’s expression. “Of course.”

“Then stay. We’ll order pizza from the elves.” 

He brightened a little. “I’ve heard they make the best.”

“They do,” Harry said, and smiled at him.

*

Draco spent the next two days with Harry. He let Harry cook for him, then they took a long walk in a park close to Grimmauld Place. The crisp air turned their cheeks pink, their breaths light smoke. Harry touched his side, his hand; he leaned close to whisper, “You look good in Muggle clothes.” Draco smirked and smoothed down the coat Harry let him borrow.

The first night, they played chess, then Gobstones. Draco shrieked when he lost both games, which made Harry laugh and fall to his side. Draco crawled over to kiss him, but Harry turned his face away. He nibbled Harry’s throat instead. He made Harry pant and squirm; when he unbuttoned Harry’s jeans, a hand stopped him.

“Let’s not tonight,” Harry said. “Will you watch a film with me?”

They curled up on the sofa and stared at Harry’s telly. The story was about heroes in space. When the characters cracked jokes, Harry watched Draco’s face.

“Why are Muggles obsessed with space?” 

“Dunno,” Harry said. 

“Earth has enough madness.”

Harry rubbed his thumb over the back of Draco’s neck. “Maybe because Muggles don’t know they’re surrounded by magic. They must imagine magic existing in another part of the universe.”

“Idiots.”

The second day, Draco helped Harry tame his garden. 

“You’ve priceless plants out here,” Draco said.

Harry pulled at some weeds, his glasses glinting in the soft sunlight. “I do?”

“Unbelievable,” Draco muttered. He pointed out a red and purple flower. “ _Eleonore Flora_ is worth about a thousand Galleons a bundle. It’s one of the best pain relievers around.”

“Oh.” Harry watered some tangled vines. “Cool.”

“But don’t ever stick a petal in your mouth and think it’ll end your headache. It needs to be properly distilled to be useful.”

“Damn it,” Harry said.

Draco threw some soil at him.

Later, they showered together and Harry diligently cleaned all the dirt from under Draco’s fingernails. They washed each other’s hair, but Harry backed away when Draco tried to soap up his body.

“I don’t want to get excited,” Harry said.

Draco licked the warm water from his own lips. “Isn’t that the point?”

“No.”

They were lounging on the sofa, hair still damp, when the Floo chimed.

Harry groaned. “It’s probably Molly. She likes to check up on me.”

He waved his wand and Brown’s head popped up amid the flames. She was breathless. “I’ve incredible news.”

Draco crouched in front of the fireplace. “What is it?” 

“The Ministry just announced they are ending all bans on former Death Eaters. The Wizengamot is abolishing all the discriminatory laws.” 

“But -how is that possible?” Draco asked.

“It probably has a lot to do with the lawsuits.”

Harry hovered behind Draco. “What lawsuits?”

“We opened the floodgates! The Ministry has been bombarded with over fifty lawsuits in the past forty-eight hours! Have you not been listening to the wireless?”

“Err -we’ve been busy,” Harry said.

“The Wizengamot obviously does not want to hold proceedings for every single one. Can you imagine the media storm? The Ministry wouldn’t survive!”

“Hold on.” Draco was having a hard time understanding. “Do you mean I can go to Europe now?”

“Yes!” Brown grinned. “Beginning at midnight, all the laws are ineffective.” 

“Did they mention the vague laws? What are they going to do with them?” Harry said.

“Probably quietly abolish them too! And if they don’t, they’ll hear from me! We’ve got _leverage_ now!”

 _I need to get out before they change their mind_ , Draco thought.

There was murmuring behind Brown. She turned slightly to listen to whoever was speaking to her. “I’ve got to go,” she said to Harry and Draco. “Lots to organize! Lots to celebrate!” She disappeared. 

“Congratulations,” Harry said, smiling slightly.

Draco was stunned.

“Do you want to Floo Scorpius to tell him?”

Draco gulped, trying to find the words.

“No - I mean, yes, of course.” Strangely, he wasn’t thinking about his son. “I need to see Pansy right now. I’m sorry, but I need -”

“Okay.” Harry dropped down to his sofa. “I think your clothes are still up in my room.”

“Thank you.” Draco stumbled up the stairs. Harry watched him go.

Draco Apparated to Pansy’s estate. He didn’t know what he was doing. He tapped his wand against the large gate and it clicked open for him. He strode down the gravel path, his heart pounding. 

The same demur servant answered the door. 

“Please let your mistress know Draco Malfoy would like to speak to her.”

The servant hesitated but then disappeared into the corridor. A moment later Pansy appeared at the door.

“Have you heard?” Draco asked.

Pansy flung into his arms. “Yes! Granger just rang me. This is _brilliant_.”

He pulled her closer, trembling. He realized he was crying. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Stop. You’re going to make me cry.” She wiped the tears from his eyes. “I can’t believe they threw you into that horrid jail!”

“Water under the bridge!” He laughed. “I can’t believe it’s real!”

“Come in and meet Howard.” She tried to pull him inside, but he resisted.

“Oh - I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Ridiculous! I want you to meet him.” 

He let her pull him inside. They went through many doors until they ended up in a cozy study. Howard blinked up from his reading.

“We’ve a guest,” Pansy said brightly.

Howard shook Draco’s hand; he was a short man with teeth like a rabbit’s. “Very good to meet you. Draco, I presume?”

“Yes.”

Howard looked fondly at Pansy. “She’s told me a lot about you.”

“We’ve just heard great news. Care to join us for some champagne?” 

“No, no.” Howard tapped his book. “I’d rather consume this, if you don’t mind.”

Draco smiled. “Not at all.”

“We’d drink outside if it wasn’t so bloody cold,” Pansy said as they moved to the lounge. 

“Funny enough, I didn’t even feel it on the way here.”

Pansy called a servant for the champagne. She fell back on a pretty chaise. “Where were you when you found out?”

He hesitated. “I was with Potter.”

“Still? I knew he’d saved you from the reporter mob. Did you really spend all that time with him?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment. He was blushing.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Yes, you do.” They shared a laugh.

When the champagne was served, Draco sipped from his flute and drew shapes on the chair. It’d been a long time since he encountered upholstery this soft. “I’m moving to Spain.”

“To be with Scorpius?”

“I’m sick of missing him all the time. It’d be good to get out of Britain finally.”

“Do you need assistance? I could -”

He shook his head. “I don’t want your money. I felt like a heel negotiating those payments with you. I’ve never want to be anyone’s charity case.”

“How will you support yourself?” She said this kindly, but it still irritated him.

“I do have talents. I’m excellent brewer. In Spain, I could finally become a Potions Master. I could nab a job with a smart company. My skills would speak for itself.”

“What about Potter?”

“He - he -” Draco drained his flute. “We would never work out. A person can’t get over what I did to him, not really.”

Pansy played with her rings, then her necklace.“But you love him.”

“I don’t. Not really.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Everybody can see the pull he has over you.”

“Granger and Brown, you mean? You three probably sit around and gossip about how pathetic I am.”

“No, we don’t. I’m just trying to get you to acknowledge some of your feelings.”

He stood to pace. “It doesn’t matter if I love him. He will never forgive me. Sure, he might convince himself he has, but there will always be a tension. It would alienate his daughter further from his life and this would kill him. Sex can’t make up for that.” 

“It would take time, but maybe -”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” 

She sighed. “Can I visit you in Spain?”

“Of course.”

“Will you introduce me to Scorpius? Let me spend time with him?”

“Scorpius is grown. He can do whatever he pleases.” He imagined them sitting together somewhere, Scorpius laughing at all her naughty jokes. Maybe she’d ask him to call her Aunt Pans, and he’d do so but only sarcastically.

“I hope it pleases him to meet me.” Pansy set down her flute.

“Thanks for the champagne. I should head home now.”

“I’ll walk you to the road.”

Outside, they were quiet. When they arrived at the gate, she took his hands. “I’m going to miss you.”

He touched her cheek. “I do want you to visit me in Spain and meet Scorpius. I want it very much.”

She hugged him tightly. “Take care of yourself. Don’t hesitate to ring me if you need anything.”

“I don’t know how to use a telly ring.”

“Have Potter show you.” She tugged him down to kiss his forehead. “Be kind to yourself. Don’t let him tear you up.”

He walked down the dark road for a mile or so. He needed to think. 

His life suddenly had possibility. He could be somebody. He didn’t need anyone to be happy. He only needed his intelligence, his tenacity. Finally, he could redeem himself. 

He Apparated home and fell into bed. He thought about Scorpius and the _Sagrada Família_. He thought about sandy beaches and turquoise waters. He thought about his new beginning.

*

The next morning, Draco ventured to St Mungo’s. He had to give his notice but he also wanted to confess his secret brewing to Magnolia.

She was in the middle of breakfast when he knocked. “Oh, Mr Malfoy,” she said, struggling to hide her Apricot Bun.

“I don't mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”

He took a seat. “I need to speak to you as well.”

She wiped the glaze from her fingers. “I know you’ve been secretly brewing potions.”

“Do you know it was me who created the improved _Magis Sanguis_?”

“Yes, and honestly I didn’t know what to do with the information until -” She motioned to the morning’s paper on her desk.

He turned his head to read the large headline: _MINISTRY ENDS DEATH EATER BAN_.

“It’s quite the shock, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes, but now we can properly employ you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to work for St Mungo’s. I’m moving to Spain.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him. “Will you at least do some consultant work for us? We have so many potions that need improvement.”

“Would the hospital own distribution rights to my altered potions? Yes? Then, sorry, I must decline.”

She frowned. “Maybe we can work something out.”

“Maybe.” He stood. “Thank you for helping me. Needless to say, I’m submitting my notice.”

She stood and came around her desk. She shook his hand. “Thank you for helping out at the benefit, though I heard you disappeared for a while.”

“I was feeling under the weather.” He smiled and left. 

When he returned home, someone was waiting outside his door. His wards pulsed from the presence. It was Harry.

“Oh,” Draco said. “Please come in.”

Harry slipped past him, smelling amazing. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I wanted to see you.”

“Care for some tea?” Draco asked.

“No, thank you.” Harry sat down on one of Draco’s frayed chairs. Draco flinched.

“I have something I need to tell you.”

“Please tell me you didn’t shag Al.”

Draco didn’t know if he was joking. He tried not to be offended. “That’s not funny.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“I’m moving to Spain.”

Harry stared. “What?”

“I want to be close to Scorpius. I’m sick of missing him.”

“But - you’re _leaving_?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “It’s for the best.”

“Says who?” Harry’s voice was raised.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset. You told me yourself you want to forget me.”

Harry stood and walked toward the door, then spun around. “It’s complicated!”

“There’ll be other men you can dominate. You’re Harry Potter - people grovel at your feet.”

“Stop.” Harry pressed forward, like he wanted to grab Draco. “Do you not care for me at all?”

“Of course I care for you.”

“Then how can you be so cold right now?”

Draco looked away. “I’m doing what’s best.”

“I can figure out what’s best for myself!”

“You should’ve ended all contact with me after what I did.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth. “I’ve been obsessed with you since you were arrested.”

“Obsession isn’t the same as love.”

“Who said anything about love?” Harry turned away, his back hunched. 

Draco went to him. “We will never work out. Family is too important to you. Forget about me and throw yourself into repairing your relationship with Lily.”

“Don’t say her name.”

“You will move on. You will forget about me.”

“You mean _you_ will move on and forget about _me_.”

“Harry.” Draco gently turned him around. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He wouldn’t look at Draco. “You hurt me all the time.”

“I’m sorry.” Draco caressed his smooth cheek. “I don’t want you to be in pain. I want you to be happy, surrounded by a happy family.”

“That’s never going to happen. My children can’t stand me.”

“They love you. They are young and trying to figure themselves out. Go to your daughter.”

“I don’t know where she is!”

Draco gave him a skeptical look. “Ask your sons. They know.”

“Please.” Harry kissed his neck, breathing him in. He touched Draco through his robes. “I just want you one last time.”

“No.” Draco stepped back. 

“What will it take? I’ll let you fuck me.”

Draco sucked in air. “No.”

“Why are you doing this!”

“Don’t yell at me.” He went to his door and opened it. He trembled. “I need you to leave.”

Harry walked out. “Once again, you betray me.” 

Draco shut the door on him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Two Years Later**

Harry was late. These days, he seemed to always be late, and he didn’t understand why. He was no longer an Auror; there were no more mountains of paperwork to fill out. He was able to choose the hours he was in the office, except when he had morning meetings with Lavender and the staff.

He Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. Old Tom, with no teeth left in his mouth and no hair left on his head, waved cheerfully to him.

“Fancy a spot of breakfast, Harry?”

He shook his head. “No, unfortunately. I must dash.” A few moments later, he was in Diagon Alley.

The office of _Salazar’s Children_ was perched above a tea shop. The location was as discreet as you could get in Diagon Alley, but people saw Harry move in and out of the building regularly, and knew his organization was headquartered there. 

Lavender and Hope Mulciber were already in the conference room.

“Sorry,” Harry said, slipping through the door. 

Hope glanced up from her notes. “It’s all right; by now, we expect you to be late.” She smiled cheekily.

He rolled his eyes and pulled out some crumbled parchment. “What’s on the agenda?”

“We have two events coming up - the Squib Ministry Ball and your visit to the Mary Miracle Orphanage.” 

“Oh. Right.”

“Can you still make both of them?” Lavender asked.

“Yeah, I think so.” He tapped his quill on the table. “I was just hoping we’d nailed down some business partners before the ball.” _So I don’t have to spend the whole time begging for donations._

“I’ve drafted up some potential partners,” Hope said. 

He looked at Lavender. “Have you spoken to Parkinson?”

“Yes, but she’s on the fence. She doesn’t want to be a . . . _disturbance_.”

He suppressed a flinch. “That makes sense. I hate to ask her for more money, but she originally helped get us off the ground, so she seems like an obvious first choice.”

“What about Millicent Bulstrode? Her business is quite successful.”

Lavender looked thoughtful. “We’re getting closer. I think we should search for a business run by a former Death Eater. It would make the partnership more meaningful. Pansy and Millicent are close, but there has to be former Death Eaters out there who own successful businesses.”

“We should look in Eastern Europe,” Hope said.

“Yes, I know a few of them moved to that region after the laws were lifted.” He struggled not to think about Draco.

Frowning, Hope said, “Do you think two years is enough time for them to establish a business strong enough to help us out?”

“Some accomplished it.” Lavender glanced at Harry. 

“For now, we should reach out to Millicent,” he said. “I can do it, or -”

“I’ll do it,” Hope said. “We know each other.” 

“Great! What’s next on the agenda?”

“It’s been a while since you’ve done an interview about us,” Lavender said.

He sighed. “Of course, we should see if the _Prophet_ is interested, but I’d love to give it to Luna.”

“No one reads her bloody magazine.”

“It has to be the _Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_ ,” Hope said.

He groaned.

*

That night, he was too agitated to watch telly. He stood in his lounge and eyed all his dusty belongings.

Grimmauld Place needed a cleaning. Harry had been so consumed by his work with _Salazar’s Children_ recently that he’d neglected much of his chores.

He started in the lounge and worked his way up to the bedrooms. He didn’t have the heart to clean the kitchen that day, but he’d focus on ridding other parts of the house of dust and grime.

It took him over two hours, swiping his wand along surfaces, levitating heavy tables and bookcases to get to dirt beneath their feet. He cleaned his bedroom, then the hall toilet. He did not go into the guest room closest to the landing. 

At the end of his work, he was proud of himself. He felt competent. He did not think of the one bedroom that hadn’t been cleaned. 

Sighing, he went back down to his lounge to lay on his sofa. He Summoned a beer from the kitchen. He turned on the telly, but it was just noise. There was a newspaper on his coffee table.

Draco Malfoy covered the first page of the business section. He posed in his potions lab in Spain, smiling blandly and holding a smoking vial. He’d let his hair grow out, and now his resemblance to Lucius was almost startling. Harry stared.

For the past two years, Harry had been lovesick. He thought about Draco daily. He imagined his new life in Spain. He imagined the men and women he fucked, and tried desperately not to let it ruin him. He had to get over Draco. He knew this. It was pathetic to pine for someone who didn’t even live in the same country. 

Many nights, he lay in bed and lingered on Draco. He went over every interaction, every word. He grimaced even though he was utterly alone. Christ, he’d been such a prat to Draco. He’d _harmed_ him. He remembered how he’d forced Draco to the floor of that loo, how he’d fucked him brutally, violently. He remembered how he’d made him bleed.

The shame was difficult to handle. Yes, Draco had slept with Lily, but he hadn’t been with Harry at the time. And yes, she had been young, but she’d been old enough to make her own mistakes.

It was fucked up. It was confusing. Harry didn’t think he could ever get over Draco. Not really. Not entirely. Even if he fell into a relationship with another person, Draco would always be with him. The memory of them together would always be something he returned to in the darkness of his bedroom. 

He’d heard about Draco’s success in Spain. He was happy for him, but it was bittersweet. He wished Draco was closer, touchable. He wished he could just run into him at the Leaky Cauldron. 

Draco would be perfect for a partnership with _Salazar’s Children_ , and it was frustrating that he lived so far away. It was frustrating that they would never be able to get over their past.

*

Spain was a dream, a fantasy. Draco respected himself now; he held his head high. His potions business was something that made him _proud_.

The original lab had been in a cellar on a winding street in Barcelona’s wizarding district. The space was small, cramped, but the street-level windows let in warm sunlight. Draco liked to watch the feet of pedestrians. 

Scorpius helped him in the lab. He was tied to his work with Spain’s most esteemed brewing academy, but he still made time to assist his old dad in building the cellar lab from scratch. They had to bargain to get their hands on proper, secondhand equipment. Draco refused to work with inferior cauldrons. They traded potions for carpentry when it came time to construct the blackout cupboard for the ingredients. Draco watched like a hawk as the carpenter laid down the anti-light charmwork. 

When it was all done, Draco and Scorpius sat at the little break table in the corner and drafted a list of marketable potions. 

“Hangover potions,” Draco muttered.

Scorpius nodded. “Contraception.” 

“Weight loss?”

Scorpius thought for a moment. “Do you think you could brew something that really works?”

“Maybe. I would need to experiment.”

“Menstrual cramps.”

Draco brightened. He loved that he’d raised a son who was aware of other people’s problems. “That’s a great one!”

“Erectile Dysfunction.” 

“Huh.” Draco was thinking. “That’s another one that will need experimentation. I don’t want to overdo it.”

“I’m sure the academy’s library has current research on all this. I’ll get you a membership card.”

Draco squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

It took a good six months for Draco to make a profit. He spent everyday in the lab, sunrise to sunset, brewing, experimenting, contemplating. It was a great distraction. He didn’t think about Harry. A handful of shopkeepers agreed to stock his potions. Then, one day, Draco stumbled on a winner. It was a tasteless hangover potion that gave drinkers a spike in energy. Most hangover potions tasted like vomit, which made drinkers sick up before their stomach could soak up the magic. 

When he showed Scorpius what he’d created, Scorpius was elated. He drummed with energy. He paced the small cellar and said, “This is a game changer.”

He’d been right. The hangover potion flew off the shelves. For months, Draco devoted all his time to keeping up with the demand. He had to hire a staff to keep his head. He wasn’t happy if he wasn’t experimenting. 

It had been over a year now, and the hangover potion had made him a millionaire. His brews were sold in shops all across the continent. He was currently in negotiations with an Asian distributor. British distributors were breathing down his neck. 

“You could expand to Britain without returning,” Scorpius said.

Draco shook his head. “I’d be an idiot if I did that. Britain’s too close. It makes no sense to chuck money at middle men just because I don’t want to go back.”

“It makes no sense to delay like this. Sure, you’ll lose money to middle men, but you’re losing money now by hesitating,” Scorpius said. 

Draco sighed and walked over to his window, a steaming mug in his hands. They were in his flat for a tea break.

“This is about Potter, isn’t it?”

Draco didn’t respond right away. He hated that Scorpius knew about his feelings for Harry, but it would’ve been worse to lie to him. When he’d arrived in Spain, Draco had been too sad to hide his feelings from Scorpius. 

“What happened between you two?” Scorpius asked quietly.

Draco stared out the window. The sunset made pink smoke across the sky. It was always difficult to admit failure to his son.

“I slept with his daughter.”

Scorpius sputtered. “But - she’s younger than me!”

Draco turned to look at him. “It was a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

“How did you tell Potter?”

“I didn’t . . . he found out when Lily popped by one day.”

“Merlin.” Scorpius whistled. “Dad . . . that’s _something_.”

“I’ve always been honest with you about my flaws. I never wanted you to be like me.”

“Did she throw herself at you? I mean, I can see how that might’ve been hard for you to ignore.”

Draco raised his hand. “It was entirely my fault. I knew it was wrong before it even began. She was too young to know that I was taking advantage of her.”

Scorpius leaned back in his chair; his face was filled with warmth. “But now it’s been two years and you still fancy her father.”

“Correct.” Draco took a deep breath. “It crushed me to leave him behind. I tried not to outwardly express it, but it was why I threw myself into work.”

“I know.”

“For a long time, I forced myself not to think about him. Before the Ministry ended their laws, I was so enamored by him. I thought it would go away once I came here, but it never really did.”

Scorpius laughed. “Haven’t you always been enamored by him? You talked a lot about him when I was a kid.”

Draco sighed deeply. He whirled his tea in his cup.

“I think you’re in love with him,” Scorpius said.

“Of course I’m in love with him. That’s why running away felt so safe.”

“You had to come here. You wouldn’t have been this successful in Britain.”

“Yes, but I didn’t need to cut him out of my life entirely.”

“Maybe it was for the best. Maybe things will be better between you two because of the distance.”

“Doubtful.”

Scorpius went to him and squeezed his shoulder. “The only way to find out is to go back.”

*

It was both a blessing and a curse for his office to be positioned above a tea shop. Harry didn’t have to venture far for lunch and tea breaks, but the sugary pastries were no friends to his waistline.

Once again, he was running late. With a bun in his mouth, a coffee sloshing in his hand, he raced up to his office. Hope was right: His tardiness was a regularity. 

When he came to the conference room, he heard a deep voice and stupidly thought it was Bulstrode’s. 

Harry saw who it was and froze. He couldn’t breathe. 

Draco stood in front of him. They stared at each other. It’d been two years. It’d been a lifetime.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Hope whispered to Lavender.

Lavender cleared her throat. “I apologize for the surprise, Harry. All of the planning happened last minute.”

“It’s fine.” He sat down, numb, incoherent. 

Draco took up a chair across from him. His cheeks were faintly pink, his eyes shining. “I appreciate the invitation to be here.”

“How is Britain treating you?” Lavender said.

“It’s been good so far, but I only just arrived yesterday.” 

“Who invited you?” Harry asked abruptly.

“Hope and me,” Lavender said, daring Harry to question her.

“I can leave if my presence is too disruptive,” Draco said, his face averted.

“No!” Harry and Lavender said together.

Harry took a deep breath. He could civil about this. He could act like a damn adult. “I apologize for being rude. I was just startled.”

“Understandable,” Draco said. “It’s been two years.”

“Yes.”

There was heavy silence.

“So . . . _Salazar’s Children_ ,” Hope said.

Draco lifted his chin. “I want to help in any way I can.”

“Like I explained in my owl, we think you’d be a great partner to our organization.”

He smiled a little. “You mean you and Hope think so.”

“I think so, too,” Harry said reluctantly. He felt his cheeks warm, and hated himself for it. 

Draco glanced at him. “That’s good to hear.”

“Yes, this is brilliant!” Lavender said. “How comfortable are you with publicity?”

“I’m comfortable enough,” Draco said. “I can do interviews. I did enough back in Spain.”

“Are you familiar with the Mary Miracle Orphanage for Boys and Girls?” Hope asked.

“No, unfortunately.”

Hope nodded. “It’s a fine orphanage we’ve been partnering with since the beginning. Would you be interested in taking a tea break there, taking some pictures, doing an interview with Harry?”

“With Harry?” Draco glanced in his direction again. “Only if he’s comfortable with it.”

“Are you comfortable with it?” Lavender asked.

Harry swallowed. His mind still raced. “Yeah, I think so.”

Lavender smiled. “Perfect! It won’t be for another few weeks, but there is also a Ministry charity ball for Squibs. Are you willing to go to that?”

“Will Harry be there?” Draco said carefully.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, trying not to sound irritated. He was in the room; Draco could ask him a bloody question.

“Yes, I will go.”

Lavender clapped her hands together. “Great!”

Harry dug his fingers into his thigh under the table.

*

The next couple of days Draco was a frequent visitor to the _Salazar’s Children_ office. Harry tried not to stare. They didn’t speak to one another, and the silence was awkward. Lavender and Hope smirked at each other when they thought Harry wasn’t looking.

Draco seemed unable to meet Harry’s gaze. He kept his eyes down like he was trying to hide, like he was desperately thinking of an escape plan. The few times they passed each other in the hall, Harry vibrated with tension. He wanted to touch Draco; he wanted to speak to him. Draco flinched away like he was afraid he’d be burned.

Then, one morning, Harry walked into the conference room about five minutes late and found that Draco was the only one sitting at the table.

Harry gulped. “I thought we had a meeting?”

“Me too,” Draco said quietly. 

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He moved closer and Draco stood as if to greet him. Draco raised his eyes and finally looked at him. Harry caught his breath.

“You look different.”

Draco flushed a little. The color looked so damn nice on his cheeks. “You mean I no longer look like I’m virtually destitute.” 

“I never thought you looked like that.”

Draco fiddled with his sleeve. He was wearing silver robes; the fabric caught the candlelight like satin. He looked healthier, happier. He stood taller, and Harry felt like he had to crane his neck to really see him.

“What have the last two years been like?” Draco asked. “For the Ministry, I mean. I can’t imagine them doing away with _all_ restrictions.”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “It’s been hell. The Wizengamot is full of prats.”

“I can’t believe you’re not an Auror anymore. Even at Hogwarts, I remember people talking about how you wanted to be one.”

Harry blinked. “You know so much about me.”

“Everyone knows so much about you.”

Harry smiled a little. “Yes, that’s true.” He just couldn’t get over that Draco stood in front of him; he wasn’t miles and miles away; he was flesh and blood, and _touchable_.

“Are you really going to the ball?” Harry said.

“Yes . . . unless you don’t want me there.”

“Of course I want you there!” 

Draco stared at him. He jerked a little, like he wanted to reach out. “Then I’ll be there.” 

Harry opened and closed his mouth. He wanted to ask Draco for a pint. He wanted to fall to his knees. _Forgive me. I’m so sorry I hurt you_.

Draco reacted to something in his expression. He tongued his bottom lip, his eyes darkening. “Harry,” he whispered.

“Sorry we’re late!” Lavender said as she bustled into the room. She glanced between Harry and Draco, and smirked knowingly. Hope hurried in after her.

“Let’s get this over with,” Harry said gruffly.

They sat down at the conference table and began their boring meeting. Harry tried to keep his eyes on the parchment in front of him, but he felt Draco’s presence like a magnet.

*

On the night of the ball, Harry was anxious. He _hated_ wearing fancy dress robes. He hated rubbing elbows with Ministry elite. He just wanted to stay home and watch telly.

“Don’t even think it.” Lily was Charming his tie into an elegant bow. 

He groaned. “Nobody will miss me!”

“You told Lavender and Hope you’d be there. It’s an easy way to remind people of the organization.”

“Can’t I just send them an owl? Remind them that way?” It was hard talking to her when he knew Draco would be in attendance. Sometimes, he was a shit father. 

Lily rolled her eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be brave?”

“Lies. All lies.” He stepped back to get a good look at himself in the mirror. “I look ancient.”

“You look _esteemed_.”

“That’s just a nicer way of saying old.”

She sighed. She opened her mouth to say something, but Harry interrupted.

“I know what you want to say. I’m working on it, okay?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You can’t meet men from the sofa.”

Grimacing, he said, “Please. You’re embarrassing me.”

“Come downstairs and eat something before you leave.”

They went down to the kitchen. Lily always cooked for him when she came over, which touched him deeply. He ate a couple of chicken drumsticks, his fingers shiny from the grease.

“Mind that you don’t stain your robes,” she said.

He cleaned his hands and face with his wand. He ate his serving of broccoli slower. He looked at Lily and felt his heart swell.

They were close now. He’d taken Draco’s advice and pushed until she agreed to meet with him. It’d been awkward, painful, but they slowly learned each other. They visited restaurants and cinemas; he took her to his favorite parks and she showed him her favorite bookstores. He realized how much he hadn’t known about his own daughter.

She liked reading Muggle mysteries. She adored Agatha Christie. He got into the books, too. He Floo’ed her just to hear her thoughts about the plot. She sought out live jazz and ate too much Thai. She drank too much vodka and beer, but she was young, so very young. Her body could handle all the alcohol. 

It’d taken them a few years, but Harry now felt like they were friends, maybe even best friends. He made sure not to Floo her too often. He would get around to telling her that Draco was back in the country and now partnering with _Salazar’s Children._

Lily checked the time. “You should leave soon.”

He groaned and rose from the table. He washed up and went back up to the Floo. She followed.

“Thanks for dinner.” He hugged her. 

“Sometimes I think you’d starve if I didn’t come over.”

“There’s always takeaway.”

“Merlin.” She pushed him toward the Floo. “Make sure to talk to Olbert Oppenheim!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He threw down some powder and called out his destination: “The Ministry of Magic!” The moment he disappeared he knew he’d missed his last opportunity to tell Lily about Draco before she read it in the newspaper. Fuck.

The ballroom was flooded with witches and wizards. Hired elves weaved around guests, carrying teetering trays of hors d'oeuvres and fizzing cocktails.

Harry spotted Draco and approached him without thinking about it.

“Your robes look nice.”

Draco turned in place for him, and when their eyes met, Harry knew they were both remembering their shag in the toilet. 

“They are expensive. Very, very expensive. Can you believe I can afford them now?” 

“You’re a successful businessman now. Rich.”

“Yes,” Draco said quietly.

“I bet you’ve got countless Spanish boys throwing themselves at you.”

Draco stared down at his drink. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I’m being a prat.”

“Just a little.”

“As you can see, I don’t have countless Spanish boys throwing themselves at me.”

“I don’t know why not.” 

Harry stared at him. “I’ve thought a lot about you.”

“Draco Malfoy! Just the man I want to see!” It was Olbert Oppenheim, famous entrepreneur and influencer. He winked at Harry and dragged Draco away.

Harry completely forgot that he was supposed to chat with Oppenheim. He was overwhelmed with guilt. He was ashamed about how he’d treated Draco; he was ashamed about what he’d done to him during sex. He should have fucking told Lily about him before leaving.

Turning away, Harry went straight to the refreshments. Champagne. He wanted lots and lots of champagne. He found a corner and gulped from his flute.

Draco approached him a few minutes later. “I got away.”

Harry didn’t know if he should smile. He wanted to grimace; he wanted to apologize, but Draco looked relaxed, almost excited. His grey eyes roamed over Harry’s face. 

“I’m bothering you.”

“No!” Harry’s voice was too loud. He took an anxious sip from his flute. “It shouldn’t be this difficult.”

Draco frowned. “I don’t mean to ruin your night. It’s my first time being back to Britain, and I understand if you don’t want to speak to me.”

Harry laughed. “Christ.”

“What?”

“You should _hate_ me.”

Draco blinked. “Why?”

“Because I was an arse to you! I - I _hurt_ you.”

“I wanted you to hurt me.”

Harry dragged a trembling hand over his face. He licked his dry lips. “You look good.”

Draco’s eyes flashed. He leaned in, his hand braced on the wall behind Harry. “I had to leave.”

“I know. I’m glad you did. I’m glad you moved to a place that had opportunity for you.”

“But?” There was hopefulness in Draco’s voice.

Harry stood a little taller. When he spoke, his chest hurt and his voice was weak. “I’ve missed you.”

“You didn’t move on.”

“No.”

Draco breathed deeply. “You’re not involved with someone right now?”

“Are you?”

“No.” Draco moved closer. 

Harry looked him up and down, appraising. “Are you sure there’s no one else?”

Draco shook his head quickly. “I’ve been busy with work. Very, very busy.”

“Makes sense.”

“Harry.”

He almost shuddered at the sound of his name.

“We’re too old not to be honest.” Draco looked at him intensely. “I want you.”

“But - you told me we’d never work out.”

Draco deflated. He stepped back. “I apologize. Seeing you again has been quite the shock.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I just wonder what changed. You seemed like you were done with me when you left for Spain.”

“I wanted to be done with you. We have so much nasty history. I wasn’t convinced that we could overcome what . . . I did.”

“But?” Harry was holding his breath.

Draco stared at him for a long moment. “I’m staying at a hotel not far from here.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Draco looked nervous. “Will you come back with me for a drink?”

Harry fiddled with his empty flute. “I really shouldn’t drink anymore.”

“Right.” Draco inhaled swiftly and straightened his back. “I’ll leave you, then.” He made to walk away but Harry grabbed his arm. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

*

When they made it back to Draco’s hotel, they were painfully awkward with one another. The hotel was renowned in the wizarding community for being posh, sophisticated. Five years ago, Draco wouldn’t have been able to step foot inside.

They took the lift up to his room, silent, avoiding eye contact. In the hall, a group of friends laughed and chatted, which only made their awkwardness more apparent. 

His room was spacious with large windows that let in the twinkling cityscape. There was a sitting area with ornate sofas and a snooty fireplace. Harry hesitated, not sure he should move to the bedroom or not.

“Do you mind if I have another drink?” Draco asked.

“No.”

Draco fixed himself a drink at the small bar, his back stiff. The lamps made his hair golden, his skin pale and smooth. Harry wanted to gently push his hair off his shoulders and kiss the back of his neck. 

They sat down on the sofa. Draco sipped from his glass, his eyes averted. Harry glanced at him every few seconds. 

“How’s Lily?”

Harry blinked in surprise. “She’s fine. We’re better now. Closer.”

Draco smiled softly. “That’s great.”

“I didn’t expect you to bring her up.”

“She’s your daughter. She’s important to you.”

“Is she important to you?”

Draco tilted his head. He looked at Harry with some interest. “No.”

“Oh.”

“I’m doing my best not to make this awkward.”

“That’s probably impossible.” Harry smiled a little.

“Good point.” Draco took another sip, then sighed. “What are we doing?”

Harry blinked at him again. “We’re . . . talking. We’re catching up.”

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Harry gulped. “Yes.”

“Do you think I deserve it?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Draco laughed, showing most of his white teeth. “I’m not a good person. I use sex to manipulate.”

“You’ve manipulated me?”

“I’ve done it to most people.”

Harry thought hard. “I manipulated you, too. On some level, I knew what I was doing by helping you, by shagging you even though I couldn’t stand you.”

“I’m not sure if our behaviors can be equated. I fucked your daughter.”

“Do you have to speak about it so plainly?”

“Why shouldn’t I? What will we accomplish if we try to tiptoe around it? I fucked your daughter, and she was only eighteen.”

“Right.” Harry gulped again, his mouth dry. He looked down at his feet. It was true; he fancied the man who’d shagged his teenage daughter. Life was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. 

“Why don’t you hate me?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s because I want you too much. I - you’re _gorgeous_.”

“It sounds like you don’t really know me.”

“I guess not.”

Draco looked sad. “We are strangers to each other.”

“But we’ve known each other for almost forty years. I’ve seen you at your worst. I’ve seen you pushed to your limits. I’ve been inside you. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

Draco thought for a moment. “What is my biggest motivation? What is the most important thing to me?”

“Scorpius.” Harry paused, his eyes trained on Draco. “Your reputation.”

“I want redemption. I don’t want to be the villain anymore.”

Harry slid to his knees. He wasn’t young anymore, so it hurt to be in this position, but he ignored his discomfort and shuffled closer. Draco’s eyes widened.

“What are you doing?”

“Draco,” he said, spreading his hands up his warm thighs. “You touch me deeply.”

“Why? Because I pity myself?”

“You are too hard on yourself.”

Draco set down his glass. He touched Harry’s hands with cold fingers. “You of all people should know that I deserve it.”

“You don’t. We all make mistakes.”

“I do,” Draco whispered.

Shaking his head, Harry pushed back his fancy robes and unclasped his trousers. “Will you let me?”

Draco stared, his lips parted. “Of course.”

Harry leaned up and kissed him. They both moaned at the contact. Trembling, Draco pulled back a little to drag his mouth over Harry’s cheek, up to his forehead. He framed his face and stared into his eyes.

“You’re the gorgeous one,” he muttered.

“Stop. I’m too old to blush.”

“Who says?” Draco laughed and kissed him again, more confident. He swiped his tongue along Harry’s lips, asking for permission. Moaning again, Harry parted his mouth. Their tongues brushed hotly, and it made Harry throb in his trousers. 

“Please,” Harry said.

“Merlin, I love hearing you beg.”

“I want to suck you. I want to show you.”

Draco smirked, his cheeks pink. “Show me what?”

“How much I’ve missed you.”

“You’re not going to hold me down and fuck me without prep?”

Harry tried not to flinch. “Only if you want it.”

“We can work up to it. My arse is out of practice.”

“Christ.” Harry moaned and pressed his face to his thigh. With trembling fingers, he helped Draco pull down his trousers and pants, revealing his gorgeous cock. Harry sighed. 

“Like what you see?”

“Yes.” Harry wrapped his hand around his warm shaft. He stroked slowly, carefully, his pink head emerging from his foreskin. He took Draco into his mouth, moaning, his eyelids fluttering. He couldn’t believe he was tasting Draco again.

“Merlin.” Draco’s head fell back.

Harry hollowed his cheeks, sucking lightly. Precome filled his mouth, but he didn’t care. He let it linger on his tongue. He let Draco slip nearly out, then went back down, keeping his mouth nice and open. Draco moaned and thrust.

Harry set a rhythm of bobbing his head. When he got the chance, he tongued Draco’s slit, tasting him some more. Draco jerked and throbbed, his thighs trembling. 

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come.”

Quickening his pace, Harry groaned deeply when he felt Draco’s cock stiffen even more. Draco was on the verge. _Give it to me_ , Harry thought, his mind a white flash. He was breathless, his own cock aching. _Fill my mouth. Choke me._

“Harry - I’m going -” Groaning loudly, thrusting erratically, Draco flooded his mouth with warm semen. Harry sucked him through it, loving that he felt his cock pulse on his tongue. 

When it was all done, Harry released Draco with a pop and sat back on his heels. His poor fucking knees. 

Draco looked utterly wrecked. His hair was mussed, his eyes lidded and drowsy. “Fuck, I needed that,” he said, laughing.

“Yeah?” Harry stood painfully. He sat down next to Draco and kissed him, wanting him to taste himself on his lips. 

Draco moaned and slipped his tongue into his mouth. They kissed deeply, hotly. All of it made Harry dizzy, like he didn’t know himself.

“Your turn,” Draco murmured. He tried to unbutton Harry’s trousers, but Harry stopped him. 

“No, not tonight. I don’t want it yet.”

Draco sat back, confusion and hurt on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Harry took a deep breath. “I just want tonight to be about you.”

“But I want to reciprocate. I want you in my mouth.”

“Let’s go out to dinner. You’re going to be here for a month. We have time.” Harry ached, his erection pressing against his pants. It was hard for him to stop this, but he didn’t want Draco to think sex was expected or required. He wanted Draco to understand that he valued him outside the bedroom. 

“Okay,” Draco said slowly. He stood and buttoned himself back up. His face was pink, sweaty; he didn’t look at Harry, and something like embarrassment radiated from him. 

“Can I owl you?” Harry asked.

“Sure.” Draco waved dismissively. “You know where I’m staying.”

Harry stood too, suddenly aware that he was out-staying his welcome. “I’ll owl you dinner arrangements.”

“Sounds great.”

Hesitating, Harry stepped forward. He wanted to kiss Draco goodbye, but Draco’s shoulders were stiff with tension. He brushed his fingers against his cheek, trying to catch his eye.

“You should go,” Draco said.

“All right.” Harry looked at him one last time, then Disapparated.

*

Over the next couple of days, Harry thought a lot about forgiveness. Draco was convinced that Harry shouldn’t forgive him so easily; he was convinced that Draco was being too hard on himself.

He popped in at Ron and Hermione’s for tea, and by luck found Hermione alone. They set up their tea in the garden. Hermione looked exhausted; she was now the Director of St Mungo’s, and this meant many sleepless nights. 

“I can tell you have something on your mind,” she said.

He sipped his tea. “No, let’s start with you. How are you doing?”

She sighed. “I’m fine, just overworked. I need a holiday. I need people to stop relying on me for everything.”

“Oh.”

Laughing, she said, “I want to hear your troubles. It doesn’t bother me.”

He took a deep breath. “Have you heard Draco Malfoy is back in the country?”

“Oh, yes. Lavender and Pansy are quite excited about it.”

“We’re not zoo animals, you know. You lot could limit your gawking.”

“Yes, we could.” She smiled. “I heard you got quite cozy with him in the Ministry ballroom.”

“Once again, I get zero privacy.”

“How are you feeling about it?”

He hesitated. “I dunno. I’m excited, but I’ve been thinking a lot about forgiveness, you know. I don’t know if we can forgive ourselves.”

“You think you are being too hard on yourself?”

“Yeah, and I think Draco is being too hard on himself. We beat ourselves up for our past mistakes instead of looking forward.”

“Draco deeply regrets sleeping with Lily and not telling you.”

“Definitely. And I regret . . . well, I was cruel to him. He thinks he deserved it, but . . . it’s not in my nature to be cruel, and it makes me ashamed.”

“I’m sure you weren’t that cruel. He came back, didn’t he?”

He stood, suddenly agitated. “That’s the problem! It doesn’t surprise me that Draco returned, not really; what surprises me is how willing he is to forgive me, to sleep with me again.”

“He cares deeply for you. That was evident two years ago.”

“Yeah, but maybe he shouldn’t.” 

There was a pause. Hermione stared at him, frowning. “I don’t know all the details, but what I do know is that you both care deeply for one another, and maybe that’s enough to build a strong, healthy relationship.”

“Maybe?”

She sighed and finished her tea. “I know you don’t want me to tell you what to do. I can’t guarantee that Draco loves you, that this whole thing won’t blow up in your face.”

“What would you do if it was you?”

She hesitated. “I would talk to him. I would be very honest about all my doubts. I would be very honest about all the ways I’m still hurting.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s harder than it sounds.”

He gulped. “The problem is that I don’t really know how I’m hurting. I’ve been suppressing it. I know I have.”

“You should take some time to think hard about what it means to you that he had sex with Lily. It’s been two years, but that can’t be glossed over. Lily means too much to you.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his heart pounding. 

“Does she know he’s returned?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Harry,” she said, shaking her head. “You have to tell her before she finds out from someone else.”

“I know . . . it’s just difficult.”

She stood. “Let’s go to the cinema, yeah? I don’t want to think about my troubles for a few hours.”

“Sounds good.” He took a deep breath, trying to come up with a strategy on how to talk to Lily.

*

That night, Harry was again alone at Grimmauld Place. The film hadn’t been very good - Hermione had picked it - so it hadn’t really cheered him up.

He wanted to take Hermione’s advice seriously. The problem was that he’d avoided thinking about Lily and Draco together. It hurt too much to imagine. He knew who he became when he let his jealousy and betrayal take over. He became someone who took his pleasure, who ignored tears and desperation.

Christ. He needed a beer. 

Once he had one, he settled down on his favorite sofa, feet up on the other cushion. He was old enough to be a grandfather; honesty should come easy to him.

The truth: He didn’t know Draco. Not really. He knew him as a rival, as a nemesis. He knew him as a survivor, as someone desperate for redemption. He knew him as a gorgeous man who made him tremble with need. But Draco was right. They were strangers. 

What was Draco like at work? What was he like after a bad day? Sure, Harry had seen him disappointed, despairing, but Draco had turned it toward sex, not honesty.

And when had Harry ever truly revealed himself? When had he been honest about his loneliness? How he felt cut off from the rest of the world? Their whole affair had revolved around sex, which was fun and invigorating, but a terrible foundation for a meaningful relationship. 

Harry lingered on what he’d said to Draco during sex: _bastard_ , _disgusting bitch_ , and _I hate you_. Harry cringed. He’d just suffered a terrible shock, and he’d had no business shagging Draco when he was still grappling with what it all meant.

Sighing, he wondered if it was worth it. His throat tightened. He wanted it to be worth it. He couldn’t explain it, but he wanted Draco . . . he loved him.

 _Love._ Was it true? Yes, and no. It was so easy for him to love.

He found some parchment and quill, and wrote Draco a short invitation to dinner. They had to start somewhere. He just hoped Draco was willing to be vulnerable with him.

Then, taking a deep breath, he settled in front of his fireplace and Floo’ed Lily.

“I almost didn’t answer.” She frowned, the fire licking her pale skin.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you before going to the ball.”

“I saw the photographs of you two.”

Harry sighed. “I was a coward. You deserved better.”

“I’m not over it, you know. I want you to be happy, but . . . he hurt me.”

“He broke your heart.”

“Yeah.” She looked down, her eyes very sad. “I want you to be happy.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be what stands in your way.”

“You’re my daughter. I should think of you first.”

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

His heart thumped quickly. “What do you want me to do?”

She tilted her head. “Would you really stay away from him if I asked you to?”

“Yes.”

There was a long, horrible pause. Harry prepared himself. He could barely think.

“Dad.”

“What is it?”

She stared at him. “You love him, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know.”

“I really don’t. There are problems. Maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

“But you still love him.”

Harry was silent.

“I want you to be happy,” she said quietly. “If that means being with him, then I don’t want to stop you.”

“I don’t want to lose you. If being with him means that I alienate you, then I don’t want to do it. I want you in my life.”

She smiled weakly. “You are a good father.”

“I mean it. You come first.”

“Dad. Stop. I want you to be happy. I want you to be with him.”

“Are you sure?”

She sighed. “No, but it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I knew I was the reason why you were unhappy.”

“Oh, Lils.” His eyes stung with tears. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with this bullshit.”

“I’ve got to go. Stop worrying about me.”

“I love -”

She ended the Floo. He was left staring into a smoldering fire, alone.

*

Surprisingly, Draco asked to have dinner at a Muggle restaurant. They met at the Green Pea, which Harry really enjoyed, but he was afraid it was too casual for Draco.

The restaurant was crowded and the waiters were harassed. Harry nabbed a table in the back near the toilet. When Draco arrived, he stood up to greet him and was unable to stop himself from staring. He’d never seen Draco in Muggle clothes.

It was a cool night, and Draco wore a camel double-breasted coat and a rich blue jumper that made his eyes pop. Harry blushed. Merlin. He definitely had a crush.

“I’m sorry if this place disappoints. Tell me if it’s too loud.”

“I like it,” Draco said, looking around. He’d taken off his coat and now sat back in his chair, his long legs crossed.

When the waiter came, he ordered a bottle of red wine. He was so commanding, so casual. He looked like a businessman who owned the world.

He eyed the Muggles next to them. “I want one of their mobiles.”

“You know about those?”

“How could I not? Every Muggle now has one. They seem quite obsessed with them.”

“Sometimes I go into their electronic stores to play with them. I wish our lot would stop living in the nineteenth century. I’d love a computer or a phone that didn’t interfere with . . . you know.”

“It’s only a matter of time. They made televisions that were compatible.”

“Yeah, but that took them decades. We’ll probably be seventy before they get around to making computers for us.”

Draco laughed. “Yes . . . computers and candlelight don’t really go, do they?”

“Have you used a computer?”

“Once in Spain. Scorpius made me.”

“Merlin, I’d love to see that.”

“What? Me making a fool of myself as I try to work something I don’t understand?”

Harry smiled widely. “Yeah.”

Draco’s gaze roamed over his face. “You look happier. You look like you’re under less stress.”

“Being an Auror exhausted me.”

The waiter took their orders then. Harry ordered the Cottage Pie, Draco the lamb shanks. Harry sipped his wine and allowed himself to look at Draco.

“You seem happier, too. It’s obvious Spain has been good to you.”

“Being around Scorpius has been good for me.”

“I want to see you with him. I want to see how you behave around him.”

Draco laughed and licked red from his top lip. “I don’t act any differently.”

“I’m sure you do. I’m sure you’re very kind to him.”

“I try to be.”

“I’d love to spend time with him.” Harry hesitated. “I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable.” Draco fiddled with his napkin. “I’d like that as well.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said - about how we don’t know each other.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and I - I want to get to know you.”

“That’s good.” There was something strange about his tone, and Harry didn’t know if he was being sarcastic. “Where do we start?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said, laughing. 

Draco stared. “Your eyes are so beautiful when you laugh.”

“Merlin,” Harry said, and covered his cheeks with his hands. “My plan was to seduce you during dinner, and now you’ve got me blushing like a girl.”

“I like it.”

“When I blush?”

Draco nodded. He glanced down at the table, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “What do you want out of a relationship?”

“Trust and companionship,” Harry said, then paused. “It’s quite lonely to be me.”

“It’s lonely to be me, too.”

“What do you want?”

Draco frowned slightly as he thought. “I’ve relied on Scorpius emotionally for too long. I want someone I can be honest with, someone I can reveal myself to without fear of judgment.” 

“Is it not easy for you to trust people?”

Draco burst out laughing. “Of course not! Isn’t that obvious?”

Harry smiled. “I didn’t want to assume anything. I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself.”

“I was raised not to trust anyone outside the family. Then the war happened, and it seemed to confirm my biggest fears about people.”

“The war confirmed that you couldn’t trust anyone who wasn’t family?”

“It was comforting to wall myself up. Especially after the war. Especially after Astoria died, and I had to raise Scorpius all by myself.”

“What was she like?”

Draco suddenly looked sad. He sipped his wine, then patted his mouth clean with his napkin. “She was stronger and braver than me. She was a fighter. She knew her health wasn’t the best when we met. She was barely eighteen, and even then she knew she wouldn’t live very long.”

“That is quite brave.”

“But definitely not as brave as letting the most evil wizard in history hit you with a killing curse.”

“Bravery isn’t a competition.”

Draco hesitated. “Were you scared?”

“When I handed myself over to Riddle in the Forbidden Forest? Absolutely. But I - I had my family with me.” Harry had never told anyone about what the Resurrection Stone had done for him.

“What do you mean?” Draco was frowning slightly.

Harry looked away, his heart thumping. “Dumbledore had told me to use the Resurrection Stone at the end. I knew when I was walking to my death that it was the end, and it - it made my dead parents appear to me - to comfort me on my walk to death.”

Draco gaped at him. 

“I know it sounds mad - I know that -”

“Please,” Draco said, his expression suddenly very tender. 

“What?”

“If we were alone, I’d be on my hands and knees for you. I - I want you to _consume_ me.”

Harry leaned forward, not sure how to respond, but the waiter appeared then, breaking the intense moment. 

They ate their pie and lamb in silence. Harry sneaked glances at Draco, afraid he’d said too much. 

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Draco pushed his lamb around his plate.

“You didn’t embarrass me. I’m a little concerned, though.”

“Concerned?”

Harry thought for a moment. He needed to word this carefully. “I can’t be a stand-in for self-respect. Please stop me if you think I’m lecturing you, but I worry that you will let me mistreat you because you think you deserve it.”

“It feels safe, you know. Letting you mistreat me. It feels safe to let you hurt me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Not even a little?”

Harry gulped. “I was too rough on you. I took my anger out on you without a proper discussion.”

“I wanted you to do it. You hurting me made me feel better.”

“That’s fucked up. I don’t want that anymore.” He sighed. “I want to be in a healthy relationship.”

“Me too,” Draco whispered.

They finished their meals in thoughtful silence. The restaurant roared around them. Harry watched Draco delicately cut his lamb; he had such nice fingers, and the way he held his knife and fork spoke of his aristocratic upbringing. 

The Dursleys had barely fed Harry, let alone taught him how to properly hold utensils. He wanted _love_. He wanted romance. He wanted the man on the other side of the table. 

Harry sat back in his chair. “What do you say? Do you want to try?”

Draco smiled. “Try being in a healthy relationship with you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not going to move back here permanently.”

“We’ll deal with that later. For now, we’ve got a month.”

“To attempt a relationship?”

“Yeah.”

Draco took a deep breath. “I’d love that.”

Harry grinned widely. “Yeah? Do you want to come back to my place?”

“Yes.” Draco’s eyes flashed.

*

After paying for dinner, they Disapparated to the lounge at Grimmauld Place. Draco stepped back, his gaze startled.

“Nothing’s changed.”

“Nope,” Harry said. “Do you want another drink?”

Draco pulled him into his arms. He whispered in his ear: “No, I want you to take me to bed.”

Harry shivered and grabbed his hand. They went up to his bedroom, and Draco hesitated at the threshold, staring. “I’ve missed these bedrooms.”

“Yeah?” Harry was a little surprised.

“The sex _was_ very good.”

“The best?”

“Yes.”

“I never cleaned your room.”

“My room?” Draco’s eyes were big.

Harry embraced him. He dragged his hands over his warm chest, down to his hard cock. “What do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“How?”

Draco kissed him. Sighing, he drew back and pressed his forehead to Harry’s. “I want you to make love to me.”

“God.”

“Is that a yes?”

Harry pulled him to the bed. He slowly helped Draco remove his jumper and undershirt, and shuddered when his hands finally touched bare skin. “I’ve missed your little tits.”

Draco laughed and glanced down. “They aren’t special.”

“I disagree.” Harry took a nipple into his mouth, sucking, tonguing. He followed Draco’s sparse chest hair to his other nipple, biting until the pink flushed red. Draco moaned and arched into the bite.

“Yeah? You like that?”

“I’m soaking my pants. My cock is so desperate for you.”

“Do you want my mouth?” Harry dropped to his knees.

“Merlin. You’re a brilliant cock sucker.”

Chuckling, Harry unbuttoned his trousers and helped him step out of them. Draco hadn’t been lying: there was already a wet spot in his pants, his erection pressing insistently against the fabric. Harry pulled down his pants and sucked his cock into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck!”

Harry bobbed slowly, tasting him. He took him all the way down, his nose brushing his soft pubic hair. His nose was full of his scent.

“Fuck - you’re going to make me come too quickly.”

Harry released his cock and sat back on his heels. He dragged two fingers over his warm bollocks, up his wet shaft. “I want your come.”

“You can have it after you fuck me.”

“Like it when you’re pushy.” Harry stood and guided Draco onto the bed. He took off his own clothes and crawled on top of him.

“Oh,” Draco said, running his hands up and down Harry’s back, over his arse and thighs. “You feel so damn good.”

“You too.” Harry rotated his hips, gasping as their cocks slid together. He had a thought, but it made him so fucking nervous. “Do you . . . want to fuck me?”

Draco stilled. “What? You’re used to that?”

Harry shrugged. “Sometimes I like it.”

“Oh.” Draco frowned. “I guess I could do it.”

“You guess?”

He gulped. “Yeah . . . I want to fuck you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Merlin!” Draco rolled them over. He kissed and licked Harry’s neck, making him arch up. He pinned Harry’s wrists to the bed and rutted against him. “You like it?”

It was weird to give Draco this kind of control, but he still said yes.

“Good,” Draco panted, his hair falling into his face. He looked so damn beautiful like this, thrusting, losing himself to the pleasure.

Harry kissed his pointy chin. “I want more.”

“Yeah? You want my cock inside you?”

“Draco,” he whined.

“Do you think you can take it?”

“Please.”

Moaning, Draco shuddered. “Fuck.” He released Harry’s wrists and lowered himself between his thighs. “When was the last time you fingered yourself?”

“Like a week ago.”

Draco sucked in a loud breath. He took up his wand and cast protection and cleaning spells on Harry, which made his mouth fall open. The cleaning spells always felt so weird. 

“Are you going to use lube?”

“Nope,” Draco said, smiling.

“Prat.”

Draco laughed and muttered a lube spell. He pushed a finger inside Harry, watching his face. “How does that feel?”

“Good . . . it doesn’t hurt yet.”

“Do you want to keep your glasses on?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. “I want to see you.”

“Oh, love.” Draco leaned down to kiss him. While their mouths moved together, he inserted a second finger. Harry moaned.

Draco moved his fingers in and out, testing Harry’s resistance. He curled up, searching for his nub, his eyes bright, his cheeks pink. He went deep, his knuckles hurting a little, and Harry arched up, moaning again.

“There is is,” Draco laughed.

“God.”

“You want more?”

Harry’s head spun. Draco was good, very good. “You’re so fucking sexy like this.”

“I know. Do you want more?”

“I want your cock.”

“Are you ready for it?”

“Just - get it in me. I want it.”

“But you’re still very tight. I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care.” Harry twisted, trying to force more of his fingers inside him. “I want it now.”

Draco withdrew. He cast another lube spell to get his cock nice and slick. He position himself, then paused to gaze into Harry’s eyes.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.” Harry trembled.

Draco pushed in and they both groaned. Fuck, fuck. It’d been too long. Harry arched into him, wanting more, trying to lessen the pain. Draco pushed all the way in until Harry felt his warm bollocks against his arse. 

“Christ.”

“Okay?” Draco panted.

“I think so.”

“I’ve got to move.”

Harry wrapped his arms around him. “Do it.”

Moaning louder, Draco began to rock. Harry realized he was clenching and did his best to relax. 

“Fuck, your arse,” Draco said.

“You like it?”

“I love it.” Draco sat back a little and grabbed Harry’s thighs. He watched himself move in and out of Harry’s body, his mouth trembling from the pleasure, his eyes hot and intense, almost glaring. 

Harry panted and gulped. It hurt and burned, but Draco fucking him with such intensity was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced. 

“More.”

Draco smirked, sweat licking his forehead. “You want it faster or harder?”

“Both.”

Draco dropped down to lay on top of him. He grabbed his neck lightly. “Is this all right?”

“Yeah.” 

“Good.” He tightened his hold just a little; then he was thrusting into Harry, harder and harder, his bollocks smacking, his breath so very hot on his cheek. Harry wasn’t used to being held by the neck during sex; he twisted and gasped; he felt so fucking trapped.

“Still all right?”

“Draco,” he moaned.

“Yes, love? Tell me what you want.”

“ _Harder_.”

“God, I love you.”

“Stop.”

“I do. I fucking do.” Draco tightened his hold on Harry’s neck.

“I don’t deserve it.”

Draco laughed breathlessly. He plunged into him, shaking, wound tight. “You deserve everything.”

Harry couldn’t handle it. He was going to come. Stupidly, he felt his eyes burn with tears. There were so many confusing emotions rushing through him. He felt filled by them, like he would burst.

Tears fell down his cheeks. “I -I love you, too.”

Moaning, Draco thrust into him brutally, pleasure twisting his face. He was coming silently like he was too overwhelmed to make noise.

Harry was caught off guard by his orgasm. He was staring at Draco’s face when it hit him, and he arched into it, his mouth open and his eyes somehow still watching Draco.

Draco pulled out gently and flopped down beside him. He laughed.

“What?” Harry was wrecked.

“We’re ridiculous.” He laughed harder.

Harry managed a weak smile. “Yeah, we are.” He shifted and winced. He hoped Draco hadn’t noticed his crying.

“Are you in pain?”

“Yeah.”

Draco smirked, and he looked like his teenage self. “Good.”

*

The next couple of weeks were a blur. Harry and Draco were nearly inseparable, and Harry felt giddy and younger. He felt like they had their whole lives ahead of them.

Draco spent almost every night at Grimmauld Place. He watched films with Harry and worked in his garden. They played chess together, and managed to play Quidditch for half an hour. They’d both been sore afterward, which led to a wonderful bath in a serpent-faucet tub. 

“I’m surprised you kept the snakes,” Draco’d said, his eyes closed, his head resting against Harry’s damp chest. 

Harry kissed his temple. “I like them.”

They sat for interviews together and attended more fundraisers. They visited the Mary Miracle Orphanage, and it gutted Harry to see all the orphans lined up in neat rows to greet them in the lobby.

“ _Harry Potter_!” the first one gasped.

Harry crouched down on his knee to say hello. Draco shook hands with Mary Miracle, who was a tired woman with lipstick that matched her burgundy robes.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, shaking his hand. “Do you mind taking a photograph with me? It’s for the newspaper.”

He smiled brightly. “I would love to.”

Everything was going smoothly until Harry decided to invite his children over for dinner. He couldn’t keep Draco separated from them forever. He asked Lily to join, explaining that Draco would be present, and he was surprised when she accepted.

He didn’t know how to talk to Draco about it. They were in the lounge; Draco was reading a novel and Harry was flipping through the telly channels listlessly. 

Harry hesitated. “My children are coming over for dinner.”

“Oh.” Draco looked at him, disbelieving.

“You don’t need to stay if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Will Lily be here?”

“Yes.”

“Won’t it upset her to see me?”

“I’ve told her about our renewed relationship. We’re closer now.”

“Oh,” Draco repeated. “I guess it won’t be too bad. I can act like an adult.”

“Great.” Harry kissed his temple. “You can leave if you get overwhelmed. I won’t be offended.”

Draco nodded, and Harry could tell that his mind was whirling.

That night, they stood in front of the fireplace, waiting for his children to arrive. Draco trembled a little, and Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly.

Draco shook his head. “No, I want to. Everything will be shit if I can’t make it through dinner with your family.

A moment later, the Floo roared to life and Lily emerged from the fireplace with a short man at her side. The man had a blond ponytail and tattoos twirling up his arms.

Lily stilled when she saw Draco. “Hello,” she said.

“Hello.”

She took the man’s hand and brought him closer. “This is Tim, my boyfriend.”

“Draco,” he said, shaking Tim’s hand. 

Harry kissed her forehead. “All right?” he whispered.

“For now,” she said.

There were drinks laid out for them on a small table. They sipped them silently, avoiding each other’s eyes.

“Are Al and James coming?” Lily asked.

“They should,” Harry said, frowning.

There was a rumbling, and two young men came whirling out from the fireplace. They dusted themselves off and looked up.

“Shit,” said James.

Al laughed and approached Draco. “Finally, another Slytherin!” He shook his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Draco said. “I believe you knew my son, Scorpius.”

“A little.” He looked at his dad. “How’s the funeral?”

“What?” Harry said.

“Why is everyone frowning?” James said. “Is dinner ready?”

“Yes, yes. Let’s go down to eat.” Harry chugged the last of his drink.

At the dinner table, Al stuffed his mouth with a bun. He stared at Draco. “Merlin, you look like your dad.”

Draco was taking a very long time to butter his bun. “You know what my father looked like?”

Al shrugged. “I’m a Slytherin. Loads of parents had old photographs. I saw them over summer hols.”

“Right,” Draco said, smiling.

Harry eyed Lily and Tim. They spoke quietly, their hands resting on each other’s thighs. Lily seemed relaxed enough.

“I made a roast,” Harry said. “I hope you like lamb, Tim.”

“Oh, I do.” Tim grinned nervously. He was always uncomfortable around Harry, which wasn’t surprising. Most people were uncomfortable around him.

“I hope there’s lots of gravy,” James said. “Is it ready? I can get it.”

“Ta,” Harry said, and cast a spell that had plates and cutlery flying into place on the table. 

“I’ll get the Pumpkin Juice,” Draco said, and popped up. When he returned, he manually poured each of them a glass. James cut the roast with his wand and helped serve everyone. It made Harry very warm to see Draco and James working together.

While they ate, Al told Draco about his work with dragons. “Yeah, my uncle Charlie got me into them.”

“He took one look at a dragon and became obsessed,” Harry said.

Al shrugged. “Sometimes you just know.”

“Dragons are very interesting,” Draco said. “I’m too much of a coward to be around them.”

“I think they would respect that. They hate when wizards immediately expect to be respected, dominating. They like fear.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

Al and Draco laughed.

“How’s Lia?” Harry asked James, who shrugged.

“She’s fine.”

Harry looked down at his food. He knew James wanted to propose soon, but it always made him embarrassed when Harry asked about it.

“How’s . . . you know.” James smirked.

“Better,” Harry said, glancing at Draco. “We’re working through it.”

James shook his head. “You’re so weird, Dad.”

“Thanks.” Harry faked a glare.

After the roast had been gobbled up, they moved up to the lounge for more drinks. Harry stayed behind to clean up.

“All right?” he asked Draco, who nodded and went upstairs.

Harry was in the cupboard, putting away ingredients from dinner, when Lily came downstairs with two dirty wine glasses. A few seconds later, Draco followed her down. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Draco said.

“It’s all right. I don’t mind being alone with you.”

Draco washed his dishes awkwardly.

Lily hovered near him. “Did you hear that Bractus died?”

“Yes,” he said, not looking up.

“I was sad when I found out.”

“I wasn’t.”

Lily was quiet for a moment. “Did you think we plotted against you or something?”

“At times.” He sighed. “I was too fucked up then to think clearly.”

She leaned against the counter beside him. “Is that why you shagged me? Because you were fucked up?”

He looked at her, and something intense passed between them. “Don’t.” Harry’s mouth fell open; he didn’t think Draco would ever look at Lily like that again.

She turned away from him. “It never would’ve occurred to me that you fancied men.”

“Why would it occur to you?”

She shrugged. “Aren’t you supposed to sense these things?”

“Not all the time.”

“I hate that you’re with him. I hate that I have to deal with you whenever I want to see my father.”

“I’m sorry.” He dried the dishes with his wand, then sent them soaring to their shelves. 

“You didn’t devastate me, you know. I got over you quickly.”

“Of course.” He smiled softly. 

“The owl you sent me was a shock, though.”

“Yes . . . I was a bit out of my mind.”

“I could tell.” She watched him some more. “I think you’re impossible to know.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Dad probably thinks he knows you, but he’s wrong. You hide too much for anyone to really know you.”

Draco straightened his back. “My relationship with Harry is very different than what happened between us.”

“Because you actually give a shit about him?”

“I cared about you,” he said.

She snorted. “You are such a liar.”

“Fine, don’t believe me, but it takes a lot for me to admit that.”

She didn’t respond for a moment. “I cared about you too. I - you made me feel things nobody else has. Does that make me sound pathetic?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I love your father.”

“I know.” She laughed. “And I love Tim. I think.”

“Whatever happened between us is in the past. That doesn’t mean we’re going to immediately forget about everything. It also doesn’t mean we’re going to immediately get over it.”

“You sound like you’re lecturing me.”

“I am lecturing you.” He smiled a little. 

She gulped. “What if I don’t ever get over it?”

“You will. You’ll find the perfect person.”

“Another lie.” She laughed harshly. “Love is not a given in life.”

“Don’t think you know everything. The last thing you want to do is push people away.”

Lily inched closer to him, her eyes searching. She touched his chest, and he _allowed it_. She leaned in like she was about to kiss him, and Harry couldn’t take it -

He burst from the cupboard, enraged. They startled apart, and Draco flushed deeply when he spotted Harry. 

“Everything all right?” Harry said gruffly.

“We’re just talking. I should check on Tim.” Lily glanced at Draco before disappearing up to the lounge.

Harry crossed his arms. “I heard everything.”

“You were spying on me.”

“You were reminiscing about shagging her.”

“No!” Draco stepped closer. “We were talking about ways to get over each other.”

“You need to _get over her_?” Harry was trembling. “She’s my daughter! She shouldn’t even cross your sodding mind!”

“She doesn’t! I misspoke!”

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. “I need to walk away. You should go home for tonight.”

“Harry -”

“No, please. Just go back to your hotel. I’ll Floo tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Draco said, devastation in his voice. “Will your wards allow me to Disapparate?”

“Yes.”

Draco disappeared with a pop.

*

When his children had gone home, Harry took out his whiskey.

He reclined on his sofa, taking long pulls straight from the bottle. He wanted to get pissed. He wanted to get so pissed he blacked out.

He stared at the dark carpet. Draco still wanted his daughter. He still needed to _get over her_. Harry shuddered. He was such an idiot!

Why did Draco Malfoy have such power over him? Why did Harry crave him like no one else? He needed to get Draco out of his system. He needed to fall in love with someone else. It’d been almost three years since the whole thing started and Draco had caused him so much heartache.

He stood abruptly. He needed to be reminded of what else was out there.

 _There’s other blokes_ , Hermione had said when Draco left for Spain. _You’ll find someone better suited for you!_

Doing his best to focus, he imagined his favorite gay pub and Disapparated.

He hesitated in the street. _This is for you, Hermione._ He went inside. 

The pub throbbed with music. Harry pushed past sweaty blokes. He wanted a drink. 

At the bar he ordered a pint, then turned to watch the crowd on the dancefloor. Christ, he was old. He’d probably have more luck pulling at the geriatric home.

“Hi,” someone said beside him.

Harry looked over. It was a youngish man, brunette, with glasses. “Hi.”

“You look uncomfortable,” the man said into his ear.

“I am.”

“You shouldn’t be. You’re hot.”

Harry moved closer. “What’s your name?”

“John.” The man put a hand on his shoulder. “Want to go outside for a moment?”

They weaved around pockets of people to the back door. Outside was an alley.

“Want a smoke?” John asked.

Harry shook his head, then reconsidered. “Sure.”

They shared a cigarette, standing close.

“You’ve got beautiful eyes.”

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“They’re like emeralds.”

Harry forced a smile; John laughed.

“Sorry, I’m not much of a poet.”

Harry’s heart was pounding. He ran a hand down John’s warm chest. “You don’t need to be.”

“God, you’re sexy.” John kissed him, and they both tasted like smoke. “I don’t like to shag in toilets.”

Harry’s head spun with arousal. “You’re in luck because I have an enormous house to myself.”

John pulled him closer. He brushed his hands over Harry’s arse. “Take me home. I won’t disappoint.”

“Fuck,” Harry said. 

They left the alley to find a taxi on the street. When Harry told the driver the destination, John looked at him appraisingly.

“You must be rich. That’s a posh neighborhood.” 

Harry shrugged. “I’m rich enough.”

Grimmauld Place had long been stripped of its Anti-Muggle charms. Most of its protections didn’t register with Muggles, but there were still rooms that Harry had to make sure John didn’t wander into. The last thing he needed was John to stumble on all the elf heads. 

“This place is ancient,” John said in the lounge. He turned in a circle, and whistled. “Has it been in your family for ages?”

“Sort of.”

“Do you want a drink or -?” Harry stuffed his hands inside his pockets. He didn’t want John to see his nervousness.

“Can we have a drink in your bedroom?”

“Um - sure.” Harry went to his liquor cabinet. “Is whiskey fine?”

“Yeah.”

They went up to his bedroom; John stared at all the old paintings and rugs. “Are these antiques?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, I always wanted to live in a house with antiques.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond. He perched on his bed and patted the space next to him. John took up his offer, and their thighs brushed. 

They sipped their whiskey in awkward silence. 

“So, what d’you do?” John asked.

“Err - I used to be in law enforcement.”

“Wow. Do you still have the uniform?”

“No.” 

John would probably laugh if Harry put on his Auror robes. 

John set down their glasses and kissed Harry gently. Harry moaned; this was why he brought him here. 

“You taste wonderful,” John said, caressing Harry’s cheek. “Do you want me to suck your cock?”

“I want you to fuck me.” 

John looked surprised, then he kissed Harry again. “Are you trying to get over someone?”

“Am I that obvious?”

John shrugged. He pushed Harry down on his back and crawled into his lap. “Let’s get these clothes off you.”

“Okay.” Harry was trembling.

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

When they removed Harry’s clothes, John sat back on his heels. “You’re very fit for your age.”

“Thanks?” Harry wanted to cover himself up.

John laughed and kissed down his chest. He licked some of Harry’s chest hair. “Daddy,” he whispered. 

Harry glared up at the ceiling. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Sure.” John kissed his thighs, his hip bones. He licked a hot stripe up Harry’s cock. Harry moaned. “I knew you’d like that.”

He sucked Harry’s cock into his mouth, using too much teeth. He bobbed quickly, slurping. He fondled Harry’s bollocks.

“Yes.” Harry thrashed. He closed his eyes and thought about Draco. Fuck. Fuck. John tried to take him deeper, but choked and coughed. Draco was better at this than him.

Harry pulled him up. “That’s enough. I want you inside me.”

“Do you have lube? A condom?”

“Yes, it’s in my toilet.” Harry slipped from bed and picked up his jacket from the floor. In his en-suite, he cast prep spells on himself and Conjured up a condom. He stared at it, hoping he’d got the plastic right. 

Back in his room, he crawled onto his bed and handed the condom to John. “The lube is in the drawer.”

“Brilliant,” John said. He plucked the lube from the drawer and slicked up his fingers. He pushed one inside Harry and gasped. “You’re already wet.”

“Yeah, I did a little prep in the bathroom.”

“You’re so sweet.” He massaged Harry’s arse with one, then two fingers. He curled up, searching for his nub. Harry moaned and arched his back. Yeah, John knew what he was doing.

“I love it when you moan for me, Daddy.”

Harry opened his eyes. “Again, don’t call me that.”

“Oh, sorry. I forgot.” John fucked him with his fingers, twisting, curling. He carefully added a third finger. “Do you usually top?”

“Yes,” Harry stuttered.

“God, that’s hot.”

“Just - get inside me.”

John withdrew his fingers. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Harry awkwardly rolled over. John slicked up his cock and pressed inside Harry. 

“Fuck,” Harry said, his head hanging forward.

“God,” John said, pulling out, then pushing back in. “God.”

Harry tugged at his cock. “You can go faster.”

John sped up, his hands leaving a sticky trail on Harry’s sides. “Daddy.”

Harry buried his face in his pillows, trying to ignore him. He pushed back, gasping. John’s thrusting became erratic.

“Oh, Daddy. I’m going to come.”

 _Already?_ Harry quickened his strokes, but all this Daddy talk was dampening his arousal.

“Fuck, fuck -” John came loudly, then pulled out too quickly.

Harry stared at the wall, his arse throbbing. John collapsed next to him. “That was fun,” he sighed.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Oh.” John looked away. “Force of habit.”

“I think you should go.”

John glanced down at Harry’s erection. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He fetched his clothes from the floor and dressed. “Nice to meet you,” he said, and left.

Harry closed his eyes. That’d been an utter disaster.

After a few minutes, he rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. He was such an idiot. He should’ve never gone to that gay pub. He should’ve just talked to Draco like a grown up, but it was so easy to run away, to intend to hurt than to heal.

*

After leaving Grimmauld Place, Draco bought a portkey for Barcelona. He was panicking. He couldn’t handle it anymore. He had to leave as soon as possible.

First thing in the morning, he left the country. He sighed in relief when he appeared in Spain. Checking to make sure he still had his trunk, he set off for his flat.

The streets were quiet, the air warmer than Britain. When he made it home, he slumped down on his sofa and draped an arm over his face. He needed to let Scorpius know he’d returned. Merlin, he was wrecked.

He went to his bedroom and striped down. He crawled under his cool sheets and dragged a pillow over his face. _Don’t think_ , he told himself. He wanted to just sleep. He wanted to just forget the world. He needed to Floo Lavender and his other business associates to let them know he was back in Spain.

He pressed the pillow into his face. He would not think about Lily. He would not think about Harry. He refused.

*

For the next couple of days, Draco didn’t leave his bed. Scorpius followed up on his business responsibilities. He hovered, wanting to do more, but Draco told him to go home.

“Let me be. Live your own life.”

Shaking his head, Scorpius returned to his own flat, his own friends, his own future. 

Draco didn’t have the words to explain why he was so devastated. He didn’t have the will. He just wanted to sleep and forget he’d ever gone back to Britain.

One night, he was woke up to Scorpius gently shaking him. “Come to the Floo.”

“No, I’m not dressed, I’m not showered.”

“Trust me.”

Scorpius helped him from bed. Draco staggered to the Floo in his seating area and found Pansy’s head bobbing amid the fires.

“This is unusual,” he said. “It’s only an emergency when you sneak back into the wizarding world to Floo me.”

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, love.”

She smiled softly. “I heard you ran away. What happened?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Rubbish. Tell me.”

He glared. “I don’t feel comfortable enough to talk about it.”

She glanced beyond him. “Scorpius, will you leave us alone for a second?”

“Of course. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Scorpius left.

He opened and closed his mouth. “I’m sure you can already guess why I fled.”

“Did you shag her again?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Sorry, I just had to ask. There’s some rumors.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Pansy hesitated. “I always do this. I always make things worse by opening my big mouth.”

“Tell me.”

Sighing, she said, “The rumor is that you slept with Lily again, and Potter shagged a Muggle boy in retaliation.” 

Draco gaped. “We aren’t sodding _children_.”

“Yes, but middle aged men can still have moments of immaturity. Loads of them, actually.” 

“Who told you that Harry shagged some Muggle?”

“I can’t say.”

“It was Granger. Of course it was Granger.” 

“You don’t know that. It could’ve been anyone.”

Draco arched his eyebrow. He was trying to act calm, but his heart beat quickly. Surely, it was only a rumor?

“I didn’t shag Lily . . . we were just talking and Harry overheard . . . He became quite angry.”

“What were you two talking about?”

Draco shivered. He didn’t want to think about it. He was too guilty. “Nothing important. She’s still lost, you know. I’m not sure if she likes the bloke she’s with right now.”

“Did she come onto you?”

“Sort of.”

“Oh, Draco.” Pansy looked incredibly sad. “And Potter saw all this?”

“Yes.”

“He witnessed his own daughter propositioning you?”

“No! It wasn’t like that. Not really. There was just a moment, a single moment, when she looked at me and I knew what she was thinking.”

“Did you touch her?”

“No!” He covered his face, groaning a little. “This is such a mess. Harry and I were never meant to be together.”

“Maybe you are right,” Pansy said softly. “Draco, I don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s pretty much a fact that he slept with a Muggle.”

Draco dropped his hands. “How do you know for sure?”

“Granger. We’ve gotten quite close, you know. All three of us. He confided in Granger, and well, it’s not like she could tell her husband. She needed to talk to someone about it.”

“Do you know when?” he whispered.

“The same night of the dinner party. I think he saw you with Lily and immediately went out to find someone.”

Draco blinked hard. He wasn’t going to cry. It was ridiculous if he cried.

“Do you need me? I can be there in a few hours.”

“No, it’s okay. I just want to be alone.” He took a deep, loud breath. Somehow, the news made him feel better in a strange, twisted way. “Thanks for Flooing. I’m going back to bed now.”

Pansy looked concern. “You can always ask me for help. I will always be there for you.”

“I know, love.” Draco smiled. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

They ended the Floo. Scorpius emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of tea.

“Is everything okay?”

Sighing, Draco took a mug and sat down on the sofa. “Yes and no. Harry shagged some other bloke.”

Scorpius didn’t immediately respond. He perched next to Draco, stirring his tea with his wand. “Did you just find out about this?”

“Yes.”

“So then . . . what made you come back so abruptly?”

Draco flinched. “I’m embarrassed to tell you.”

Scorpius stared. “Please don’t tell me that you and Lily . . .”

“Merlin! Why does everyone think I’d do that again?”

“I’m sorry! It’s the first thing that came to mind.”

“But why? I was briefly involved with her two years ago. I never want to do that again.”

“I know, I know, but Potter has always made you do weird things. I thought maybe you two had a row and you wanted revenge.”

“No.” His own son thought he was capable of _that_.

“So . . . what happened?”

He looked at his handsome son. Scorpius looked like him, but his features were softer, kinder. He had Astoria’s eyes. He hated that Scorpius had seen him fail so many times. 

Taking a deep breath, he told Scorpius everything that happened in Britain. He couldn’t look at him as he spoke, embarrassment and guilt and disappointment causing him to blush.

“Fuck,” Scorpius said when he’d finished. “That’s a lot.”

“Yeah.” Draco hesitated. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re in love with Harry Potter. You’ve always been in love with him.”

“But . . .” Draco grimaced. “Can’t you see that we aren’t good for each other? Can’t you see that we will never get over our past?”

“I think you made a mistake, which is to be expected. It was only your first time interacting with Lily, and it’s a damn accomplishment that you two were able to be in the same room without hexing each other.”

“Harry slept with another bloke. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“What do you think?”

Draco paused. He fiddled with his sleeve. “I’m not sure. I . . . I guess I expected it.”

“Is it a deal breaker for you?”

“I don’t know.”

“And that’s okay. You should take time. Relax. Clear your mind. None of this has to be decided right now.”

He patted Scorpius’ cheek. “My intelligent boy. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

Scorpius laughed and shook his head. “Dad, I love you, but sometimes you can be embarrassing.”

“Oh, I know.”

*

It took another week, but Draco found the strength to leave his bed and return to work. He made sure to be kind to himself. He spent his lunch hour in small bookstores and rich chocolate shops. He cooked all his favorite foods, and treated himself to fancy teas and coffees. He consumed his newspapers slowly, thoroughly, relishing every word, every scandal and debate.

Pansy checked on him. He used Scorpius’ lap thing to send her electricty mail. When he thought about Harry, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. _Forgive, forgive_.

At night, he lay in bed and lingered on Harry’s startling eyes, his warm smile, his ridiculous hair. Being inside him had been a revelation. His cock throbbed just thinking about it.

He considered finding his own Muggle to shag, but it emptied him just to imagine it. He didn’t want to shag some random bloke. He only wanted Harry. 

He walked the La Barceloneta and Nova Icaria, enjoying the cool breeze, the clear waters. He stared at all the Muggles on bikes.

One afternoon, he took up a bench and opened up his favorite newspaper. The sunshine was soft, the sky a clear blue. 

When he looked up, Harry was standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

Draco set down the paper. He stood. “I knew you’d come for me.”

“I have something I need to tell you. You should sit back down.”

He held up his hand. “I already know you shagged somebody else.”

Harry swore. “It didn’t mean anything. It was a stupid, stupid mistake.”

“Walk with me.”

Harry hesitated for a moment. They strode in silence for a minute or so, the turquoise water on their left. Tourists wandered past them, clicking their mobiles. 

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, and he took Harry’s hand. 

“What does this mean?”

“It means that I’m tired of fighting. I just want to live peacefully.”

“But - what about my mistake?”

“I don’t want to be angry anymore.” He stopped to stare into Harry’s tired face. He clung to his hand. “I don’t want to hate myself anymore.”

“Draco -”

“Shh.” He kissed Harry lightly on the lips. “Do you love me?”

Harry took a deep breath. “ _Yes._ ”

“Good, because I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you.”

“But . . .” Harry swore again. He touched Draco’s chest. “I don’t want to live without you. I’ll move here for you. I’ll do anything to be with you.”

Draco laughed. “You’ve always been too much of a romantic.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.” Draco brushed his fingers over Harry’s lips. “You don’t have to uproot your whole life for me. We can take it slow. I can visit you, then you can visit me.”

Harry bit at one of his fingers, then released it quickly when a tourist walked past. “I don’t want you to ever flirt with Lily again.”

“Of course. And I don’t want you to ever shag a random bloke again.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated.

They walked down the busy path, not caring who saw them. The water crashed and frothed; it beat against the warm sand, over and over, like it had a grudge, like it wanted to ruin itself.

Draco held his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> The infidelity spoiler: Draco sleeps with Lily before he starts dating Harry (she's 18). Then, later on, Harry sleeps with a Muggle man while still involved with Draco.
> 
> Again, thanks for reading!


End file.
